When in Rome
by McGinnis INC
Summary: Why had she always thought marriage was supposed to be blissful? Because she was an idiot, that's why. Extended summary within. Sequel to "A Bunch of Hot Air". EzioxOc
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Sequel? Sequel.**

**If you have not read the first story, you will be awfully confused. Even I was confused since it's been a decent while since I wrote for this fandom.**

**Yes, I'm currently playing Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood. Yes, the entire time I was playing it all I could think about was how I could adapt it into a fic. Yes, I'll try to be a good little girl and update like I should.**

_Extended summary: When Margherita's language teacher told her that the French version of "and they lived happily ever after" roughly translated to "and they had lots of kids", Margherita had laughed, and laughed, and laughed. What she didn't know was that the Italian version of "and they lived happily ever after" meant, vaguely, "and they moved to Rome, fought like cats and dogs, got jealous of a ginger, lived in either a brothel or some renovated underground hideout depending on the season, threatened to go back to their ex-husbands, built some weapons, and were generally miserable… but, at least they had each other." The honeymoon is over._

**Enjoy!**

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><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

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><p>"Hey, old lady! Get over here – the tailor needs to know whether you want silk trim on the collar or a string of accent pearls!"<p>

"Shut your big fat mouth, Margherita! I'm younger than you!" Regardless of her indignation, Claudia still made her way over to the blonde woman and the tailor. Glancing between the two swatches of fabric, the young Auditore pointed to her selection and the tailor scurried away to oversee the work.

"Yeah, but it's not _my _birthday today – it's yours," Margherita joked. "And because it's your birthday, the lovely anniversary of your birth, I get to call you an old lady." The two young women left the little shop together, walking in sync, as they had been accustomed to doing over the years. It was a bright day, and everyone hoped the lovely weather would persist until the next day, for Claudia's sake. "On the bright side, I will also be waiting on you hand and foot, so I suppose you should be happy I'm here."

Claudia placed a hand on Margherita's arm and threw her head back with the kind of grace only a Florentine noblewoman could have. Margherita simply envied her sometimes. "I'm always happy you're here," Claudia said. "I can't imagine life without my beloved sister-in-law."

"Ah, ah, ah," Margherita _tisked_ her tongue against the top of her mouth and linked her arm with Claudia's. "Not sister-in-law yet."

"Yes, Margherita, when will you be changing that?"

"Soon, Claudia, soon."

"Really?" the two took a turn and side-stepped the crowd on their way back to the Villa. Well, more like the crowd side-stepped them… the Auditore girl and Ezio's lover were recognizable on sight and people often went out of their way to make the girls comfortable. "Because I could have sworn that when Ezio left to go kill that bastard Pope – which he didn't actually do, unfortunately – he said that when he returned you two would be married. Granted, your annulment only just came through, but it's been a week since he's been back and you two haven't even mentioned it… It was like the two of you simply forgot that you were betrothed."

Scrunching her freckled nose a bit, Margherita replied, "Well, the conversation really hasn't come up organically and I don't want to force it… he remembers, I know he does. I think he is just pretty focused on you right now – it is your birthday after all and you _are_ his favorite little sister."

"I'm his only sister."

"That, too."

"Well, I'd like to think that my birthday – while very, very important – isn't as important as my brother finally settling down. My God, Margherita! If you don't leash him now – trap him in a legally binding marriage, he's going to go sneaking off on another assassination mission."

"No," she protested. "That part of his life is over. From here on out, he's focusing on reinforcing the Villa and starting a family. I know he wants kids. I think being an assassin is the farthest thing from his mind."

Margherita didn't like the sympathetic expression Claudia was giving her. It was one thing for Margherita to have her own self-doubts about how willing Ezio would be to settle down into the boring family life so many men eventually rebelled against, it was another thing to have his own sister questioning their future together. Then again, Ezio was basically middle aged. Maybe this was his midlife crisis. And hopefully – if the Gods were nice – a few years down the road he still wouldn't want to climb on roofs and kill guards and fight against justice.

Finally, Claudia sighed and looked away. For some reason, Margherita could suddenly breathe a lot easier. "Well, for both of your sakes, I hope that no matter what happens you two are happy."

"Okay," Margherita responded awkwardly. "I hope you're happy too."

God, what a way to make a good day absolutely suck. Claudia needed to lay off the ominous warnings.

Thankfully, the conversation was able to quickly end because they had reached the stairs leading up to the Villa. They were just about to climb upwards when a messenger rushed passed them, nearly tripping over his feet before he realized that the flat ground had morphed into stairs. Before he could totally tumble though, Margherita reached out a hand to steady him – untangling herself from Claudia at the same time.

"What's wrong?" she asked, turning the boy (and it was a boy, she realized – one of many who was employed in town to run messages back and forth between businesses) to face her. His face was smudged with dirt.

When the kid caught sight of who had grabbed hold of him, he stopped short and quickly bowed his head in respect. "Milady," he mumbled to the dirt under his feet.

"What's the hurry?" she asked again, this time slipping the boy a coin for the information. She had always found that money helped grease the wheel of life.

"Caterina Sforza and her men are here!" he informed them, and then he turned around and continued up to the Villa at a break-neck pace.

The two women continued upwards at a much more leisurely pace.

"Caterina Sforza?" Claudia questioned. "The countess of Forli?"

"The one and only," Margherita replied.

Oh yes, she remembered the redheaded beauty – soft but dominant, powerful and strong… oh, and how could she forget – absolutely stunning. Margherita remembered quite vividly standing on that boat, looking down at the woman and watching the way that Ezio let his eyes travel over her. At the time she hadn't really cared about his attentions being paid to any other woman besides herself – in fact, at that point in time Ezio had been just another boy she flirted with and he had been definitely off-limits… as in, if he so much as looked at her lustfully Leonardo would have cut off his balls.

Speaking of the painter… Leonardo had left just a few days before. He had waited long enough to give her the good news that their annulment had come through and then he informed them that he needed to get back to his workshop in Venice. And just like that – he was gone. Over a decade of friendship packed up and sent back to Venice. Margherita recalled how she had assured Leonardo years before that even if/when Ezio asked her to marry him, she wouldn't leave her nearest and dearest friend. And yet here she was, abandoning him, replacing one family for another.

In fact, she hadn't seen Rosa since returning. Ten years had passed since they had last spoken.

When they reached the first landing, Claudia pointed, "Is that Ezio?"

And indeed, it was. In the middle of the fighting ring, clad only in his breeches and boots, Ezio was pounding on one of Mario's mercenaries.

Sighing, Margherita said, "I'll see you later, Claudia." With a teasing grin gifted on Margherita by Claudia, the two split up – Claudia heading to the Villa and Margherita pushing her way through the observers to lean against the fighting ring's wooden railing.

For a moment she admired his pulsing muscles as he took a swing at the bearded, hairy man he was fighting. Already his knuckles were bleeding and when his punch hit home right in the mercenaries mouth, Margherita knew why. While Ezio wasn't dirty or grimy (like the other man), he did have a nice layer of sweat oiling the contours of his body. It was a real turn on, Margherita decided. She would definitely need to remember this mental image tonight when she went to bed. And apparently, she wasn't the only one enjoying the view.

A flash of red drew Margherita's eye to the person would had come to stand next to her. Caterina Sforza. And the woman had no problem ogling Ezio as though he belonged to her. Unfortunately for her, he did not.

Ezio belonged to Margherita.

She didn't really understand why she was getting so jealous. Normally she could even accept when Ezio blatantly flirted with other women in front of Margherita. Having other woman appreciate the view had always only made Margherita more proud to be the one he had chosen to remain faithful to. And it wasn't like she ever doubted his faithfulness…

Part of it, she realized, was the fact that Caterina was so beautiful. And powerful. Sure, Margherita had the blonde coloring that women drenched their hair with nasty chemicals to get. But Caterina was a gorgeous, natural redhead. Sure, Margherita had the aristocratic pale skin – but so did Caterina. And Margherita had freckles, which just made her seem childish in comparison. Sure, Margherita was smart and had knowledge about the future that no one else was privy to… but Caterina had an army and a city-state and she was the ruler since she had had her husband killed. She was worldly and clever – not snarky, like Margherita. Basically, she was a threat and Margherita was certain Ezio had tasted her at least once. In fact, when they had been reunited it was in Forli – where Ezio had been staying as a _guest _("Guest my ass," Margherita had thought when she had heard that) of the countess.

"I like the beard," Caterina commented. Sweet, merciful God in heaven – even her voice was cultured.

Like a halfwit, it took a second for Margherita to realize that the countess was talking to her. "Uh, yes," she replied. "He got too lazy to shave and so he just stopped."

Apparently Caterina didn't expect her to know his exact motives because her perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up and her red lips parted to form an "O". "Do you work here in the Villa?" she asked. The way her eyes drifted up and down along Margherita's body spoke volumes: the noblewoman was under the impression that Margherita was the kind of maid that earned a few extra florins by paying special attention to her master.

Margherita kept the scoff she oh, so, desperately wanted to release to herself and instead simply shook her head. Opening her mouth would have been like opening the gates of Hell and releasing the three headed dog that might just gobble Caterina up in one gulp.

Really? Really? A servant? Did she honestly look like a servant? Margherita had taken care to keep herself in doors to keep her skin pale. She spent time each morning lining her eyes with kohl and painting her lips a sultry red. Her long blonde hair was done up like the proper noblewoman she would become once she married Ezio. The ribbon laced in her updo matched the silk of her gown – one with a modest neckline and dyed a royal purple. Gold trimming outlined the neck and the wrists. Sapphire earrings – a present from Ezio years before – dangled just under her earlobes.

It was either a veiled insult or Caterina was so used to luxury that even her handmaids dressed richly.

"Are you a guest at the Villa Auditore?" she tried again.

"Well," Margherita paused, trying to think of something clever or shocking to say that would put Caterina in her place but apparently she just wasn't that witty. Luckily Ezio chose that moment to realize that his fiancée was watching in the sidelines.

"Margherita!" he called out and stalked over to her with a little pep in his step. He knew she thought he was frickin' smokin' hot all sweaty and fresh from a fight and had decided to prance around like the show-off peacock he probably had been in a past life. Bracing his hands on the wooden railing, he grinned at her wildly. She liked to believe that he was really, really happy to see her. It was probably the endorphins from the exercise. Either way, she got a particular happiness knowing that he had noticed her first and not Caterina, even though the redhead was standing right next to her.

"Hello," she nodded her greeting.

She was just about to open her mouth and continue when she noted something behind Ezio that made her mouth fly open again – this time to utter a warning. The mercenary that Ezio had been fighting was quick to get right back on his feet and he had stumbled right towards Ezio, still swinging. Once again, Ezio had predicted this. The mere look on her face had told him all he needed to know and he sidestepped, throwing his opponent over the railing – narrowly missing Caterina.

And then Ezio had to notice Caterina.

"Caterina!" he greeted, hopping over the railing so that Caterina could kiss him on the cheek in her own form of greeting.

Great – she gets a nod, Caterina gets a kiss. Thanks Ezio.

"Ezio, it's been too long," she smiled. "How are you, my friend?"

"Blissful, Caterina," he replied. "I have a fantastic retirement and a beautiful bride to look forward to."

"Bride?" Caterina's eyebrows shot up again and finally she looked over Ezio's shoulder to make eye-contact with Margherita. Then her eyebrows flashed downwards in comprehension. "And this must be her," Caterina brushed Ezio aside to glance Margherita up and down once again.

Way to make her feel like a piece of meat.

Regardless, Margherita tried to smile and stand up straighter under the scrutiny. Her mother's wise words rang through her head, _Head high, chin up, tits out, stomach in, hips cocked, shoulders squared. _Now_ you look like someone who ought to be respected and admired._ Caterina found the blonde's eyes again and nodded. Apparently Margherita had met her standards. Suck on that, countess… Psh, servant my ass.

"I am Caterina Sforza, countess of Forli," she introduced herself.

"I am Margherita…" Hmm. She seemed to have a problem… Before marrying Leonardo, she had always gone by Recci – the name she had stolen from the old man who had helped her when she first arrived in the lovely land of the Renaissance. After marrying Leonardo… who _had_ no last name… she simply went by her first name and then added on Leonardo's other identifying label, where he was born: da Vinci. Now that the marriage was annulled, she wasn't sure the exact protocol in this situation… Who exactly was she? "Recci," she finished. Surely Caterina knew Leonardo da Vinci. Why confuse her?

"Pleasure," Caterina gently inclined her head forward ever so slightly. Apparently countesses don't bow to common girls.

Well, Margherita didn't have titles. She didn't have land. She had very little money – what she had made from the hot air balloon had quickly been spent on rent when Leonardo was having a dry spell with his own work. Even the clothes on her back were paid for by Mario and Ezio. But, that was exactly what she did have – her trump card – was in fact, Ezio. She had the assassin. She hadn't meant to capture him – hadn't really meant to catch his eye. But she had. And that was one thing she had over Caterina.

So, she stepped closer to Ezio and allowed him to place an arm around her waist. Normally she didn't like it when she was all dressed up and he went ahead and ruined it by touching her with his sweaty body. But in this situation, she welcomed it.

"It's nice to meet you," Margherita gave a deeper nod that Caterina had given.

The countess seemed pleased by that, even if she did notice the way Margherita had slithered closer to Ezio.

Of course, the assassin was totally oblivious to the silent power struggle occurring between the two women, but really, men are just typically oblivious. Ezio glanced back and forth between the two ladies, a goofy smile still on his face. Quite frankly, he was probably thinking it was so great that his fiancée and his lady friend could get along so well. If only he knew. Men – so simple, so stupid, so hot.

"Are your men stationed outside the fortress walls?"

Caterina nodded.

"I will see to it that your men are taken care of. And I will see to it that _you_ are taken care of, Caterina." Ezio flashed her the kind of smile that made it very obvious that his thoughts had passed propriety and ended up somewhere very, very sexual. Margherita tried not to feel offended. The assassin nodded to one of the mercenaries near the fighting ring, who in response, took off towards the Villa.

While they waited for the maid that the mercenary had gone to fetch, Caterina tried to make conversation. "So, how long have you two been betrothed?"

The blonde responded with a shrug and said, "A few months."

"And how long have you known each other?"

Ezio and Margherita glanced at each other, both thinking the same thing. Did those ten years apart when she was in the 21st century and he was here in the Renaissance count? Did all that time when he was off on his assassination missions count? For a moment, Margherita panicked. They were so in love and it seemed like they had been a part of each other's life for an eternity, but maybe it just felt like that – what if they actually were walking into this marriage totally unprepared?

She was saved from her ill-bringing thoughts by her knight-in-shining armor as Ezio explained, "We met about twenty years ago but our lives have not always managed to cross."

"Ah," Caterina let out, bringing her hand to her cheek as she tilted her head and gave Margherita yet another look up and down. "And was it love at first sight?"

With the goofy grin back in place, Ezio pulled Margherita closer and said, "Well, it was certainly lust at first sight! Margherita couldn't speak any Italian back then, but what I had in mind didn't require much talking."

Caterina's mouth dropped open slightly, and a frown made her graceful mouth curve downwards. She said, "Why Ezio, I had always assumed you were attracted to women."

"Huh?" the assassin was obviously confused. Margherita was not.

When Margherita had returned to her own world, she returned to her own seventeen year old body. There, she spent ten long years waiting to get back – not knowing whether she would but hoping against all hope. Thank whatever deities that may be, she found a way back in the form of the Staff. However, when she did return, ten years had also passed in that world but she returned to the body she had left – the body that was only in it's late twenties. Even though she had lived as many years as Ezio, her body was that of a thirty year old.

If they had met twenty years ago, Margherita would have been about ten years old. Ezio was many things…but a pedophile he was not.

That would also explain why Caterina seemed so displeased. When Margherita had gone back to the 21 century, she had moved from the United States to Rome. There, she had worked at the Vatican Museum as an art historian. As such, she spent hours upon hours researching the Renaissance – in fact, she was probably more familiar with the era than Ezio. So, she knew that Caterina had been married when she was only ten. Granted, it wasn't consummated until she was fourteen but being forced into that life so early had probably been difficult… probably similar to rape. The idea of Ezio partaking in such a brutal tradition of the nobility probably didn't sit well with her.

"I've always looked older than I really am – developed early, you know?" Margherita tried to smooth over. "He eventually figured it out and quickly lost interest. Actually, part of the reason it took us so long to finally get together was because he could only think of me like a sister. Apparently I had to reach thirty before he was willing to admit I was a woman and not a girl."

She glanced back at Ezio, who seemed to have realized his mistake. "Yeah," he agreed. "I finally stopped thinking of her as a sister."

Whether or not this satisfied Caterina, they would never know because before she could even change her facial expression, a maid from the Villa came prancing down the stairs. She bowed to Caterina and Ezio.

_Now _that_ is what a maid really looks like, Little Miss Priss. Please don't confuse the two ever again. _

"Please see Caterina to the guest chambers," Ezio said. "She can rest there and recover from her long journey." Then he turned to Caterina. "We will discuss things tomorrow – probably in the morning. It is Claudia's birthday," he informed her.

"Ah, I will have to remember to wish her a happy birthday – perhaps get her a present…"

Ezio nodded, "Well, I need to go get cleaned up so I don't pollute all of Monteriggioni with my stench," the assassin joked.

The group made their way up to the Villa and Ezio was kind enough to let Margherita go so that she could walk on her own. She did walk close to him, though, in the way that only old couples can pull off – just close enough to maintain a private conversation, without being so close that the contact is inappropriate.

"I doubt you could pollute all of Monteriggioni," Margherita snarked. "Just the Villa."

"I always thought you liked it when I was all sweaty and manly," Ezio whined.

Caterina interrupted from her position a few steps a head of them – though Margherita hadn't been aware that they were talking loud enough for her to overhear. "All men seem more attractive when they are sweating – it is when that smell becomes stale that women are repulsed."

"Yup," Margherita agreed, turning to smile at Ezio.

"Then, let us hurry so that I don't become stale."

By that time, they had reached the main lobby of the Villa so Margherita and Ezio nodded their departure to Caterina and the maid, and they made their way up to Ezio's room. Ezio called for a maid to fill the tub with hot water.

In the meantime, Ezio pulled out a kit with linen to wrap up his hands. Margherita ached to help him bandage his bloody knuckles, but she knew that he had tons of experience with breaking himself, fixing himself and then breaking and fixing himself again. All she would do it slow him down. So, she sat and watched him diligently, hoping to pick something up.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Margherita knew that she had had some negative feelings regarding Ezio's lifestyle. As a young girl in the 21st century, she knew that being a dutiful housewife was not for her. She wanted a career. She wanted a life. Renaissance women weren't allowed careers. Margherita had been fortunate enough to have her experiments, her writings, the things that kept her busy throughout the years of her life. She couldn't imagine sitting at home any more, waiting for Ezio to return from a dangerous mission.

So yeah, she was glad that part of his life was over.

Her gladness was increased exponentially as she noticed the branding on the ring finger of his left hand. That was where the wedding ring would go – and yet it was permanently burned with the insignia of the assassins… the one thing in his life that would always come first, always come before Margherita, always leave her waiting by a window for her lover to come circling back down to Earth and home and hearth before leaving once again.

The marking was quickly covered with linen.

Ezio finished wrapping his hands and since he was almost already naked, Margherita made quick work of her outer robe, placing it gently on the bed so that it wouldn't wrinkle – okay, yeah, so the fact that Caterina had thought she was a servant still kind of stung – and then she ditched her slippers.

When strong, masculine arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a hard chest, Margherita sighed. Ezio sprinkled her neck with butterfly kisses and let his fingers wander over the ties of her under robe. Quickly, the white fabric was loosened and fell around her ankles. Turning in his arms, Margherita pulled at the waistband of his breeches.

Ezio threw his head back in laughter, "Someone is hasty."

"Someone is becoming stale," she snarked back, finally loosening the laces to the point that she could yank his pants down… unfortunately, he had forgotten to remove his boots.

Margherita glared up at him, blaming him for the inconvenience. "Your problem," she huffed, and walked over to the filled tub. It was nice and hot, steam already swirling up from the surface of the water.

In his haste to get into the tub with his fiancée, Ezio simply threw his clothes into a corner of the room.

"Honestly, Ezio?" she complained, "If you treated your clothes the way you treat women, I would never have to sew again."

"I can sew," he protested. "I helped you sew the balloon!"

She simply blinked at him and crossed the room again, back to the bed. Dutifully, she picked up the clothes he had discarded and folded them gently before setting them on the bed. Ezio rolled his eyes, but the smile didn't leave his face. He hoped that another twenty years from now she would still huff and fold his clothes.

Ignoring the agitated woman, he lowered himself into the tub, groaning with deep satisfaction as the hot water soothed his aching muscles.

"From that sound, you'd think you enjoyed getting in a hot bath more than you enjoyed having sex," came Margherita's comment.

"I am getting too old, Margherita."

"You're only forty."

"Yes," Ezio leaned his head back. "And in assassin years, that's more like eighty."

"Hm," she made her way behind him and pushed his head forward gently to guide him forward. From this angle, she could run her hands over the hard muscles of his shoulders and neck. Deftly, she massaged over his trapezoid and deltoids.

Blinking up at Margherita through half-lidded eyes, enjoying his massage very much, Ezio gave her a crooked grin.

"I had forgotten that I had said you were like a sister to me," he said.

"I had, too."

"Ha!" the assassin scoffed. "Who were we kidding? Through all those years – of all the feelings we felt for each other, sisterly and brotherly love were certainly not one of them."

"I think we didn't want to feel anything for the other," she explained. Margherita leaned over to place a kiss on his hairline. "We were busy with our own little projects – trying to escape in our own way. I had my flirts, you had your whores. None of it was ever serious because we didn't want anything serious."

"But now we want something serious."

"Exactly."

Under her ministrations, his bones became like jelly and he flopped back. "Come in here," he purred.

After removing her breast band and bloomers (and making sure her hair wasn't going to get wet), Margherita climbed in, situating herself between Ezio's legs. As she leaned back against his chest, Ezio cupped some water and let it dribble down her shoulders. She sighed into his neck.

Her left hand found his underwater and she laced their fingers together gingerly, remembering his injuries. Pulling the appendage up, Margherita placed a kiss along his bandaged knuckles. In doing so, she caught sight of his ring finger.

"When are we going to get married?" Margherita finally blurted. She had really meant to save this topic for a better atmosphere and she really didn't want to ruin the mood, but all she could think about was that she wanted this moment to last forever. She wanted to be married to this man, at his side forever.

"Whenever you want," he replied easily. "As soon as you want, as late as you want."

Margherita paused to think for a moment. "We should focus on Claudia tomorrow and it will take some time to plan – and Claudia will probably be the one to plan it and she'll be focused on her own birthday tomorrow so…"

"Yes," he agreed, ignoring her mini-rambling. "What if we set the date for a week from tomorrow. That way we'll always know when our anniversary is – just seven days after Claudia's birthday."

"…are you implying that I will forget our anniversary?"

"My love, you would forget you had a head if it wasn't connected to your shoulders and I was there to occasionally remind you where you had left it."

Beneath the water, Margherita found his hairy thigh and pinched the skin just hard enough to give a warning. Ezio yelped and responded with a laugh and nip on her neck. It was probably less painful than he had intended because all it did was send a shiver down Margherita's spine. Lord, she loved that man.

"So it's set, then?"

She felt him nod behind her, "Yes, wife, it is set."

Like a little girl, Margherita giggled. She could get used to being called that. Sure, "whore" was something special since only Ezio called her that. But now Ezio would refer to only her as "wife". She decided to throw out her own term of endearment and see what Ezio thought.

"Husband, could you pass me the soap?"

"Here you go, wife."

"Why thank you, husband."

"We shouldn't be this sickly sweet."

"Oh please, we're nearly newlyweds; we're supposed to be sickly sweet."

"Well, let's just not be sickly sweet in front of Mario – he'll never let me live it down."

"Can we add Claudia to that list, too?"

"Definitely."

Margherita gave another sigh. The burden had been lifted off her shoulders and in a week she would be married. Life couldn't get better than that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: So… the plot plan for this lovely little story grew… wildly. And now it's long. And a little different from the first story… Mostly because Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood lends itself a lot better to a more action-based plot. So this story might be a bit of a challenge for me because I've never been very good at action scenes. However! I look forward to the challenge and I'm rather excited.**

**I think I'm aiming for Tuesday updates at this point… kind of deviating from my normal Sunday updates, but it's the summer so I have the time. And… yeah. That's about all the news I have.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

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><p>When they had first begun their relationship, Margherita was always guaranteed a deep sleep. After hours of passionate, hot lovemaking sleep was easily introduced and in the morning the two would fight the whole world to remain in bed in some attempt at basking in the afterglow. Yeah, the exercise was pretty damn exhausting. Suddenly having reunited caused their sleep cycles to drastically change and thus, they had begun to keep weird hours. The night before, they had gone to bed early. Five hours of deep, deep sleep later they were awake once again.<p>

"What time is it?" Margherita asked, rolling onto her back.

Ezio didn't respond immediately and for a moment she thought she had just imagined him rustling the sheets. Grumbling, he shifted so that his face was no longer stuffed into the pillow and then he spoke, "It's still dark, Margherita. That is enough for me to know that I should still be asleep."

"But you can't sleep – you've been tossing and turning."

"You can't sleep, either." It wasn't a question. The assassin had that kind of sixth sense.

"Nope."

"I'd suggest we make ourselves sleepy by picking up where we left off before we went to bed, but I'm really just not in the mood."

"Ezio Auditore – not wanting sex?"

"Margherita Recci – being snarky?"

The assassin let out a _huff_ as her elbow hit him squarely in the ribs. Letting out a chuckle, he rolled over nearly onto her, placing his forearms on either side of her head. He pressed his forehead against hers and stared right down at her. Any air that might have entered her lungs quickly disappeared – that damn man always managed to leave her lightheaded with his mere scent. His breath tickled her face as he spoke, "Later, my love."

As he pulled back and sat up, Margherita let out the breath she had been holding and followed him into a sitting position. "I'm going to hold you to that," she informed him.

They sat in silence for a moment, both totally comfortable with the stillness and the darkness and the companionship. There was something about being alone with one's thoughts and yet still not being alone… it was terribly comforting. A person's thoughts are private and it's impossible to know them unless they speak. But when someone thinks deeply, they rarely are able to do it in the presence of other people. To think deeply, to lose oneself in one's thoughts in the presence of another person leaves them vulnerable. Yet Ezio and Margherita sat and thought and breathed and that was it.

Finally, Ezio broke the silence, "I know it's been a while, but do you remember Minerva?"

"Minerva?" Margherita thought about it for a moment… Was she a courtesan? Part of the Thieves Guild back in Venezia? Oh wait – Margherita remembered! Minerva was the lady at the very end of the Assassin's Creed game! She wondered why Ezio was bringing her up – the assassin had never brought up the whole going-to-another-realm thing… Sometimes Margherita thought Ezio was under the impression that that whole experience was just a dream and Margherita had really just taken an extended vacation. "Yeah, I remember her."

"She wasn't talking to me – it was more like she was talking to someone else, but through me," Ezio seemed troubled. Margherita could always tell because he would rub his chin with the back part of his hand. "Now that everything has passed and that part of my life has concluded could you explain it to me?"

"Explain the game or her warning?"

"Both. You mentioned before… when we were at your home," Margherita thought that was an interesting label for it, "that the game was based around a descendent of mine. And that this descendent was… living my life or something. That was who Minerva was talking to, wasn't it?"

Margherita nodded, "The game starts with Desmond, your descendent. He lived in the same time period as I did, but I'm pretty sure in a different realm. In the game you learn that he was raised by modern day Assassins but he ran away and was kidnapped by a group of modern day Templars. These people have a machine that allows them to see people's memories by, I guess, experiencing those memories themselves. The thing is, to play the memories of a person who is dead, you need their direct descendent. The Templars are looking for the Pieces of Eden.

"Altair – the man who made the Codex pages – came into contact with the Apple. Desmond is his descendent so they used him to access Altair's memories so that they can find the Apple. The first game follows Altair – he was a master Assassin before he made a terrible mistake and lost his rank. So, Desmond trails Altair until he is betrayed by the leader of the Assassins, who uses the Apple for evil. Altair defeats the leader and gains the Apple.

"After witnessing these memories, modern day Assassins try to and succeed in rescuing Desmond. The Assassins realize that they need to find the Apple before the Templars so they put Desmond back in the machine to watch your memories because he is also your descendent."

Ezio interrupted, "I don't think I've sired any children…"

She could have laughed, "It doesn't work like that. I could explain all the future science stuff, but the simple version is this: only the events you experienced before siring a child would be able to be seen in this machine. If you have a kid out there, they aren't directly related to Desmond. But eventually you will be a father for sure."

Grinning, Ezio leaned over and kissed her. "I hope so," he said as they pulled away.

Margherita allowed herself one moment to feel flustered before she shook her head, "You want me to continue, or what?"

"By all means…"

"So, anyways, the game begins…" Shoot, she was hoping that she would never, ever have to bring this up again. After the relationship trouble this subject had brought up last time, she was hoping never to have to utter anything about it ever again. She cleared her throat and tried again. "The game begins when you are seventeen. It continues until last week. I don't think I need to explain your own life to you."

"So, Minerva was talking to Desmond?" Ezio asked.

"Yes, she probably knew that six hundred years later Desmond would be watching you and that the message would be given that way."

"…So he's been watching this entire time?"

"Yup."

Ezio's mouth dropped opened. "…Everything? Even… us?"

Margherita caught his fear and tried to quell it, "Well, I don't know about "us". I don't know how this whole "realm" thing works." She shrugged. "I also don't know how much he got to see… In the game it skips to the important parts: life-changing events," _Like your family dying,_ she didn't have to add, "assassinations and… well…there were some moments with you and your lovers."

The assassin frowned. "Lovers? And who would that be?"

"Caterina and Cristina," she answered automatically.

During that ten year banishment, Margherita had subconsciously avoided any media related to the Assassin's Creed franchise. It was too painful. One night when she was deep in thought she had discovered another reason for her avoidance: part of her knew that if she returned she wanted to be normal. She wanted to be part of that life, not an observer looking in. She didn't want to know anything. Unfortunately, one day when she was on the internet, she opened a link and there was an advertisement for the new game in the form of a video. The clip showed Ezio in bed with Caterina. It was all Margherita saw before she clicked out of the window almost on instinct. She didn't want to see Ezio with another woman – especially when it was entirely probable that in her long absence he would in fact find shelter with the beautiful countess.

A dark look passed over Ezio's face for a moment. "So then, you know about Cristina?"

"I know that you two had a thing in the beginning – back before I was even in this realm," Margherita laughed. "It's not like I'm jealous or whatever so stop acting like she was the other woman or something."

The way his eyebrows flashed downward scared Margherita.

"It wasn't like you two were carrying on when I was in the picture – like, seriously in the picture." He didn't respond. "Right?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"She was my first love," he explained, not looking at her. "We bumped into each other a few times throughout the years." Margherita wanted to ask just how recently they had "bumped into each other" – she wanted to ask when _exactly_ they had come into contact with each other, but she kept her mouth shut and let Ezio continue. "I don't really remember how serious we were – you and I – when I ran into Cristina but we didn't sleep together. She was married and I knew I couldn't give her the kind of life she deserved…"

Margherita couldn't keep her voice from bursting forth. "Will you two be bumping into each other in the future?" she asked. She honestly hadn't meant to sound so bitchy and jealous and… stupid. But that was how it came out, nonetheless.

The assassin finally looked at her. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. "She's dead."

Margherita paled. Wow, she was a bitch, wasn't she?

"Oh," she let out, lowering her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, flopping back onto the bed. He pillowed his head with his hands and stared up at the ceiling.

Something occurred to Margherita but she hesitated to vocalize it – why be a sadist? Why do that to herself? But she really wanted to know. They say curiosity killed the cat. They also said satisfaction brought it back… but Margherita didn't know what level of satisfaction she would get from his answer though.

"When we were… um, when we were separated for those ten years did you…" she took a deep breath. "Did you get involved with anyone?"

Ezio glanced over to Margherita. Maybe he had anticipated this question. Maybe he hadn't. Either way, he didn't seem too upset or uncomfortable.

"Did you?" he shot back.

Ah, give some to take some. Margherita could play that game. Even though she would have preferred to just say, "I asked you first" she knew that she still owed him for kind of, sort of inferring that he would potentially cheat on her with his dead ex-girlfriend. So, she sucked it up and explained, "I did."

"How many men were there?"

"Just one."

"You slept together?"

"Yes."

"Did you love him?"

"No. He knew I didn't. It wasn't fair to lie to him. All I could ever think of was you."

Ezio closed his eyes and frowned up at the ceiling, "Now I feel guilty."

In some feeble attempt to lighten the mood Margherita gave a humorless laugh and asked, "Did you absolutely whore yourself out the second I was gone?"

When his jaw clenched, she could feel her stomach drop.

"Oh," she let out, involuntarily.

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, "No, not like that, Margherita!" He ran his hand through his unbound hair. "There were just some trips to the brothel."

"Oh," she repeated.

"They were few and far between, Margherita!" he exclaimed. "Ten years is a long time to be alone."

Letting out a deep breath, Margherita stood up and asked, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. I'm going to go grab something to eat – do you want something?"

"No," he replied. "I'm good."

"Alrighty then."

Margherita was nearly out of the room when Ezio's voice rang out, "So are you just going to avoid this conversation, then?"

She turned back and sighed, "No Ezio, because this conversation is over. You're right – ten years is a long time to be alone. And there was no guarantee I was coming back. If I hadn't returned I probably would have ended up married and you would have probably ended up falling in love with someone else. Life would have gone on. We both had needs and in the absence of each other, we found satisfaction through different means. Does it hurt to know you shared someone else's bed? Yes. Do I feel guilty for sharing another man's bed? Yes. But I'm damn glad we're the ones sharing the bed now, okay? I don't know why I brought this topic up, I'm sorry; can we just forget about it?" Letting in a deep breath of air, she finally shut the hell up.

The assassin nodded dumbly and Margherita left the room.

Grabbing a small cluster of grapes and a glass of water, she made her way back up to Ezio's room. She paused for just one moment, however to glance out the window. Already the sun was beginning to rise and she realized that they had overestimated just how early it was in the morning. She sighed for the umpteenth time and continued back to the room.

Why had she brought that up? Didn't she know a Pandora's Box when she saw it? Didn't she know that that would only hurt her – that anything he would have said would make her feel bad? Because he either didn't move on, in which case she was the bad guy who (in some respects) cheated on him or he did move on and Margherita didn't want to think about that.

Margherita banished the thoughts away just in time to notice movement right in front of her – a shadow flickered right near the bottom landing of the stairs that lead up to Ezio's room.

For a moment she was worried it was an attacker sent by the Borgia and that Ezio was in danger, but then she noticed the way the shadow formed an hourglass shape – it was a woman in a dress. Claudia was next on the suspect list – perhaps spying on the betrothed couple, hoping to blackmail Margherita later with the topic of their pillow talk.

She was disappointed on both fronts – the shadow shifted and a ray of moonlight illuminated the coppery red hair of the woman.

Caterina.

Was she spying on them?

Or hoping to sneak up to Ezio's room?

Margherita decided to ask her. Putting on her best courtier's voice, she said, "Oh, Caterina!" The woman nearly jumped out of her skin she was so startled. But she quickly recovered and turned to Margherita. "Is something the matter?" Margherita asked the countess.

The redhead, to her credit, simply smoothed her skirts and replied, "No, no. Everything is fine."

Ezio chose this moment to appear at the top of the stairs. "Caterina?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Ezio. Everything is fine," she repeated.

"Do you need something?" Margherita tried to draw the countess's attention away from her shirtless lover.

"No, no, no." The countess gave an exasperated (but oddly still refined) sigh. "I have been keeping odd hours because of all the travelling we have been doing and so I awoke a few hours ago. I thought perhaps to go take a walk in the garden but there is truly only so many times one can circle the beautiful flora around the Villa before one grows bored. Then I thought perhaps to peruse your art gallery but I seem to have gotten lost."

"I can show you exactly where it is," Margherita offered. "It's on the first floor. I'm certain you passed it when you first arrived."

The noblewoman's eyes flickered for a moment – or that might have been the newly blooming sunlight that was now streaming in through the windows. Either way, she smiled and nodded and replied with a genial, "Thank you, Margherita. That would be most helpful."

Margherita nodded and skipped up the steps to hand Ezio the glass of water and the grapes. Then she returned to the lower floor. In a show of (perhaps pretend) friendliness, the two women linked arms and began to make their way to the master staircase.

The moment their feet touched the first steps a loud thundering echoed, shaking the entire Villa.

The countess and the commoner exchanged looks and Margherita untangled herself from Caterina so that she could quickly return to the bottom of the staircase that led to Ezio's room.

"What was that?" she called up to the assassin.

Ezio appeared once again at the very top. "The mercenaries are testing the canons; it's nothing to worry about."

Almost the moment the words were out of his mouth another thundering pounded the Villa. But this time it was accompanied with a giant metal ball crashing through the wall right to the left of Margherita. She screamed and tried to shield herself from the raining debris. When everything had settled she could hear Ezio calling out to her. Part of her mind wanted to respond, the other part wanted to slip into a coma and her body – well, her body was staying firmly where she stood.

"Margherita?" Ezio finally got to her, grasping her by the forearms and shaking her a bit.

This snapped her out of it.

The second the awareness reached her eyes, Ezio commanded, "Go down to Mario's study. There is a secret tunnel there – you know the one. Get my mother and sister and get out. I need to go find Mario."

"I'll have my men back you up," came Caterina's voice from behind Margherita.

Ezio nodded his agreement and then disappeared back up into his room. Almost on the pure instinct to escape, Margherita whipped around and sprinted off to Maria's room. In the back of her brain, she noted Caterina running down the stairs, skipping two at a time but quite frankly the blonde was more focused on getting to her future mother-in-law's bedroom. She figured Claudia would be able to mostly take care of herself until Margherita could find her.

Another canon rang out and from the resulting crack it had probably hit a building close to the Villa.

By the time she stumbled around a corner, she caught sight of Maria. The older woman was apparently on her way to find her children and when she saw Margherita she came to join her.

"Have you seen Ezio and Claudia?" she asked, coming to grasp onto Margherita.

"I was just with Ezio – he's gone to fight," a dark look passed over her face at the mention of her son in danger. "I haven't see Claudia. He told me to take you two down to Mario's study. There is a secret tunnel."

The words were barely out of her mouth when yet another canon shook the entire Villa. Both women stumbled slightly against the impact and tightened their grasp on the other. Maria's face was quickly schooled into a determined expression and she gave a definite nod. "Claudia knows about the tunnel," she said. "We can make our way down there. Doubtless, she will already be on her way to come find us."

"Let's go!"

As they were pattering down the stairs a giant hole ripped right through the wall behind them – taking part of the staircase with them. Nearly tripping, Margherita grabbed at the handrail. She turned to stare at the hole in the wall.

What the fuck was going on?

With a deft tug on Margherita's sleeve, Maria forced the girl to continue down the stairs. She honestly wasn't surprised to see Claudia already trying to make her way to the upper levels. The women nearly collided on the stairs.

"Oh, thank God!" Claudia let out as they all turned to run to Mario's study. "What's going on? Where's Ezio?"

"We're being attacked," Margherita explained. "Ezio left to go fight."

They passed the entrance to the gardens outside the Villa and a woman's sharp scream stopped them.

"Wait here," Claudia commanded.

Margherita caught her arm just as she left the safety of the Villa's roof. "I promised Ezio that I would get you to Mario's study!"

"I need to –" She was cut off as another scream was let out.

That instantly shut the two girls up as they turned to search for where the scream had come from. Several women came running – some of them followed by or carrying children. They came to a sudden stop right in front of the doorway as they noticed the Auditore women. One of them stepped forward. Out of breath she said, "We were told to come here – that there was a way out."

"Yes," Margherita told her. "Back this way, follow me."

"I'll stay here to make sure people know where to go," Claudia suggested.

Margherita frowned at the lady, but put up no argument as she led the townswomen and Maria into Mario's study. She opened the door and was about to continue to lead everyone down the stairs into the Sanctuary but Maria placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I know where the passage is," she said. "Go back to the door so you can lead more people."

Without hesitation, Margherita nodded and doubled back, on her way helping usher more people into the Villa. They were coming in floods, all desperate and scared and Margherita wanted nothing more than to help them. Finally, she reached the end of the long line of people. When she stumbled back into the courtyard, she noted that Claudia was waving people to the Villa, promising safety.

"Claudia!" Margherita called out to let her know she was there.

When Claudia saw that she wasn't alone she called back, "I'm going around the front – unless people hear from word of mouth, they don't know that there is a way out!"

Margherita didn't have time to protest as Claudia simply took off. She didn't like that the younger girl was no longer in her sight. Regardless, more townspeople continued coming so she figured the girl was alright. Every time another person turned the corner looking for sanctuary Margherita would shout directions and point to the opened door.

Within ten minutes however, an odd sound reached her ears – shouts and the clanging of metal. She had only ever heard that sound when she watched Ezio in the fighting ring – it was the sounds of swords hitting against other swords. From the distance, Margherita realized it was right where Claudia should be.

Swearing under her breath, Margherita yanked her skirt up and sprinted around the Villa to find out where Claudia was and if she was alright.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit," she muttered as she came upon the mini-battle that was taking place in the front yard of the Villa. Mercenaries had already arrived in time to help. But the invaders had pushed themselves forward and were arriving in overwhelming numbers. Claudia was close to the edge of the battle, narrowly avoiding the blade of a sword by ducking behind a pillar.

The blonde had never fancied herself a hero. Not even close. She wasn't the housewife type, but she wasn't the warrior princess type either. Time after time she had proven herself to be basically worthless in battle – in fact, in almost all dangerous situations. So she didn't know what had changed… but something in her had yanked at her heart and caused her to sprint across the yard. There was a discarded sword. Margherita grabbed it and nearly faltered – she was totally unprepared for its weight.

So, when she finally made it over to the guard that was attacking Claudia, she could do little more than raise the sword over her head and let it fall right onto the attacker's back. She didn't have time to cringe at the blood or even register the fact that she had taken someone else's life because Claudia let out a shout, grabbed up the sword her attacker had been holding and speared the man behind Margherita.

As the guard fell onto the other dead body, Claudia grasped Margherita, "Are you alright?"

Margherita wiped her face, "Yeah, I was about to ask you the same thing."

She nodded. "I'm fine." Before anyone could say anything else, Claudia spotted a new arrival. "Ezio!" she shouted.

When she caught sight of him, Margherita's heart dropped. The man she had left just half an hour before had been refreshed and healthy. The man before her was exhausted and injured. There was a spreading blood stain on his shoulder and he was favoring his other arm as he joined in the fray.

For the rest of the battle, Margherita and Claudia stuck to the sidelines, their help no longer needed. They still grasped their stolen swords, though. At one point in time a guard thought it might be a good idea to attack them. In unison, they raised their weapons and prepared to defend their home – only for the guard to drop like a log at their feet. A dagger was stuck in his back and Ezio spared them one last glance before focusing on the man in front of him.

Ezio made quick work of the men that were left. The second the last man was down the girls dropped their swords.

"Is mother safe?" he asked the second he arrived at their side.

Claudia answered as Margherita quickly lifted his shirt to try to get a good look at his wound. "She's at the entrance to the Sanctuary and is sending people down as we speak."

The blood was already beginning to clot around what looked like… a gunshot wound? Margherita tried to push his shirt up even more but apparently Ezio had already heard all he needed to because he swatted her hand away like a fly and yanked his shirt back down.

"Let's go," he set off towards the garden and the girls followed dutifully. Margherita cringed at the way he limped. What had he done to himself? "The Borgia have overrun town. We need to get out of here."

They reached the entrance to the underground stairs to find two mercenaries waiting for them. Apparently Maria had already gone downstairs.

"I will hold them back!" one of the mercenaries claimed, taking off. As they spoke footfalls pounded outside. Suddenly the noise changed from a muted _pit_ to a sharp _clank._ The guards had breached the Villa. They would be on them in mere moments.

The bookcase which served as the door to the stairs began to close as the other mercenary prepared to depart downwards. Ezio skidded to a stop and held it open shouting, "Stop! Wait for us!"

The other mercenary seemed surprised to see the assassin. "We thought you had been killed, Ezio!"

"Not yet," Ezio joked humorlessly. He held the door open as Claudia and Margherita slipped under his arm, into the tunnel.

"Where does this passage lead?" the mercenary asked.

"To the north, outside the walls," Ezio explained.

The mercenary commented, "I am surprised it exists."

Claudia was halfway down the stairs but Margherita stayed behind. Part of her was worried that Ezio would pass out at any moment. She had seen his scars. There were plenty of them all across his back and chest in every spot that his armor didn't cover. She knew he had survived more that a simple gunshot wound but for some reason this was worse. It was the look on his face. It was like his soul had been crushed. She hadn't seen that look on his face since… since she was laying on top of him in a haystack, watching him cry over his brothers and father.

Ezio stomped on a jutting brick, which gave way under his foot and caused the door to begin to close.

"Let me through," the mercenary said. "I must go help the troops." And he slipped out the door.

Ezio locked the door and began down the stairs.

"Hurry Ezio," Claudia called to him.

The assassin passed Margherita and grabbed her wrist on the way down, pulling her along. "Are we certain mother made it down here?" he asked.

"I am here," came Maria's calm voice.

"Thank God," Ezio breathed.

"We could not leave without you," Claudia explained from behind him, as they reached the Sanctuary. Margherita had never been down there in person. The statues all lined up in a neat circle were beautiful and regal – they took her breath away momentarily. Then, Ezio tugged her forward a little and she realized she had slowed down her pace subconsciously so that she could gawk. They stopped right in front of Altair's statue.

"The way out will be difficult," Ezio said. "Protect our mother."

Any remaining stragglers slipped behind the statue, followed by Claudia and Maria. Ezio paused to glance around to see if anyone was being left behind and Margherita stopped with him since he still had her wrist in his hand. Finally, he turned and they left through the passage.

It was dirty. Old. Smelly. Scary. Unfortunate. The only thing that got her through it was Ezio's hand, which slipped down from her wrist to her actual hand. It was warm in her grasp and she worried that he was becoming clammy.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied shortly.

"You're injured."

"I'm fine."

"Ezio –"

"_I'm fine._"

Margherita stopped talking after that. He didn't let go of her hand. But he didn't look at her either.

Claudia caught the transaction and glanced back at Margherita, but said nothing.

It wasn't until they had reached daylight and broken away from the darkness of the tunnel that Claudia spoke up. Not to comment on Ezio's shortness, but instead on the absence of one particular person.

"Where is Mario?" she asked Ezio's back since he (and Margherita by result) had stalked ahead of the pack. "I thought he would be waiting for us."

Someone let out a cry of, "The Borgia infantry are circling the town!"

Finally Ezio let out a deep breath and released Margherita. Then he turned around and said, "Mario is dead." The women gasped. "You must leave this place. Take mother to Firenze."

Then he turned to a mercenary who had been escorting people and commanded, "Get me a horse." He stalked away.

"You are not coming with us?" Claudia asked. Margherita couldn't speak. "Where are you riding?" Claudia glanced at Margherita to see how she was reacting. The blonde kept her face totally passive. Mostly because she couldn't feel anything from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She was numb.

"To Roma," he informed them sharply and he continued to stalk away.

Margherita opened her mouth to call him back. The fact that he could walk away from her that easily was frightening. This wasn't happening. They were getting married in a week. They were going to have kids and Ezio was going to retire and settle down and they were going to be happy and Mario was going to play with their kids and they would name one of them after him. That was the life she was supposed to have.

Maria spoke up first, "Go, my son, destroy them… but remember for whom we Assassins fight."

No, that was the last thing Margherita wanted to hear. His mother should be telling him to stay, to guard them on their way back to their home city.

The horse arrived and with not even a glance back, Ezio climbed up and took off.

She watched him until he had disappeared over a hill.

"Don't cry, Margherita," Claudia said, approaching her and wiping tears Margherita didn't know she had dripping down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Maria, the strong, prideful Auditore matriarch approached Margherita from the other side and gently drew her into a comforting embrace. "Don't worry, child," she whispered into Margherita's ear. "He will be alright. He will be back. My son is strong."

Slowly she pulled away and Margherita was able to wipe her own tears. "Thank you, Maria," she said. Then she turned to Claudia and tried to force a smile. It turned out looking more like a writhing worm under her nose.

"So much for a _happy_ birthday," Claudia groaned.

The three women turned to look at their devastated home. In that moment they all realized they would never return and that life as they knew it would never be the same. And here, Margherita had thought life was supposed to become stable now. Apparently not. And now, Mario was dead and she was displaced again.

And there was one thing she knew for certain: the Borgia were in Rome. So long as they were alive, Ezio would remain there.

If she went to Firenze she would be totally separated from Ezio for only God knows how long.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: This is late. I blame college. You should, too.**

**I also blame Teen Wolf.**

**You'd think I'd grown out of liking that kind of immature thing, but really, really… apparently not. You should check it out, you might like it. If anything, we can all swoon together over the hot guys. Because there are hot guys. Hot, hot guys.**

**Might pop out a one-shot from that fandom. Who knows?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

* * *

><p>"So we keep going north?" Margherita asked the other two women.<p>

"Yes," Claudia answered, stoking the fire that Maria had lit.

The blonde was actually surprised about how self-sufficient these two women were. Granted, they had assassin blood in them – well, Claudia did, but Margherita supposed that only an extremely strong woman could have married Giovanni Auditore. And they both had traveled with Ezio all those years ago from Firenze to Monteriggioni. So now, it was just like following their old footprints backwards.

They had been traveling for a full day and now the sun was setting. No one had spoken much.

"It's hard to imagine that last night we were preparing for bed, hopeful of the future," Claudia commented, plopping down next to her mother.

Margherita nodded and took a seat on the other side of the fire, examining her bleeding feet.

It hadn't been until they had begun their journey that Margherita had realized that her feet were bare… as were her shoulders. In fact, since she had been basically in bed right before the invasion, she hadn't had a chance to get dressed. She had no shoes. She was wearing her nightgown. She stood out like a swore thumb when they passed towns and she was totally exposed to the elements when they were on the open road. To add to that, her gown had gotten stained by the blood of the man she had killed. Margherita tried not to think about it.

Eventually Claudia had been merciful and given Margherita her outer robe to wear over her nightgown. Deftly ripping the parts of her nightgown that were covered by the outer robe, Margherita fashioned herself some bandages and wrapped them around her aching feet. The terrain had been tough.

The three sat in silence and watched the fire for a while before Claudia stood up, "I'm going to go look for more firewood. This isn't going to last."

"I'll go with you," Margherita offered.

The girl had been antsy the entire trip, constantly looking to the south. For a while, Margherita had been under the impression that she was simply worried about Ezio. But then she had caught a glance at the young Auditore's face – she wore a very determined expression. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes were narrow.

Margherita was certain Claudia wanted to go to Roma with Ezio.

So, like hell she was going to leave the girl alone.

Claudia made no protest and the two set off into the woods. Margherita winced slightly has her feet touched the ground.

It wasn't until they were far out of Maria's earshot that Claudia finally turned to Margherita. "I'm glad you decided to come with me," she said. "Had I asked you to come, mother would have been suspicious."

"You want to go after Ezio," she guessed.

The Auditore female didn't even bat an eye. "There is nothing for us in Firenze. Going back there is pointless."

"But it's safe," argued Margherita.

"I don't care if it's safe!" she shot back. "It doesn't matter where we go, someone will still be after us! Assassin's will always be in danger."

"You aren't an Assassin – we aren't Assassins."

"You heard my mother's departing words to Ezio: "Don't forget for whom _we_ Assassins fight." I am an Auditore. I have the same blood flowing through my veins that Ezio does – surely I can do the same. I'm sick and tired of being forced to sit on the sidelines! When my father and brothers were taken I could have fought back. I didn't. My mother did and she was overpowered. And then you showed up. And you fought back."

Margherita interrupted, her voice raising a pitch, "And do you not remember what happened to me? Because I haven't."

"But you survived! And at least you fought back!" Claudia gave an angry groan and pulled at her hair. Margherita stepped up and grasped her wrist to keep her from hurting herself. The girl was quite volatile if left to her own devices. At Margherita's actions, Claudia noted her own self-harming and took a deep breath before trying a new strategy. "I can count on one hand how many times Ezio has visited us these past twenty years. Surely you remember how little he was with you and at least you two were in the same city! At the very, very least I want to be in Roma with him. I want to see the Assassin's victory over these damn Borgia and I want to help if I can. Surely you can at least understand?"

With a deep sigh, Margherita nodded. "I know how you feel Claudia, I do. But I trust Ezio and his decisions. If he thinks that Firenze is the safest place for us, I will go there."

"But doesn't it bother you? God, you probably won't marry him for a few years, until he finally wakes up one morning and remembers you're alive."

Yeah, that hit her right where it hurt. Wincing, Margherita said, "Please don't remind me."

"See? It does get to you!" Claudia shook her head. "He thinks he can just drag us womenfolk wherever he wants to take us and then he thinks that he can just leave us there and that we won't put up a fight. And for twenty years we've let him! If you want to, go on to Firenze. Take mother, keep her safe. But I'm turning back and going to Roma."

"If Margherita wants to go to Firenze, then she will go alone," a voice spoke up. The two girls jumped, startled out of their bones. God, when Maria wanted to be sneaky, she could be very quiet. "I have been separated from my son for far too long. We will set out for Roma tomorrow."

After a quick glance at each other, the two younger women nodded. And with that, they set off back to the campsite. Gingerly, Margherita tried to step strategically and avoid any rough patches that might agitate her feet further. Maria said, "And we will make a stop for supplies – including some proper footwear for you, Margherita."

"Mother," Claudia interjected. "We don't have any money."

"Aren't there accounts in Firenze still?" Margherita recalled Ezio mentioning them at one point.

Maria shook her head, "I am certain the Borgia have ceased them. But that does not matter." The woman placed a hand into the bodice of her dress and removed a pouch. As it was shaken gently in Maria's soft hand, the rattling of coins could be heard.

The blonde nodded her appreciation just as the campfire came into view.

* * *

><p>When Margherita had been in the 21st century, attending college, she had done so at American University in Rome. Then after having graduated, she refused to return to the United States, preferring to work at the Vatican Museum in Rome. That had been her life for almost ten years, those were the roads she had walked down, those were the churches she passed, those were the statues she glanced at – having learned the history behind them while in school.<p>

So, when Claudia turned to ask Margherita if she had ever been to Roma, Margherita nodded her head.

Then she remembered that Claudia didn't know the truth… Ezio had told Leonardo because the genius had been the first to recognize her absence. But other than that, no one else had been informed about Margherita's realm-hopping. Margherita really hoped that Claudia wouldn't ask her to guide them since apparently she had been there before.

"So how do we find him?" Claudia asked.

"Ha!" Margherita scoffed. "If there was one thing I learned long ago, it was that you don't find Ezio – he finds you."

The younger girl shot her a look and the blonde shrugged. "Okay, so, how do we make sure he quickly finds us?"

The three stood at the gates, thinking for a moment. Finally, it was Maria who spoke up, "We look for an inn. The sun will set soon and we are still weary from travelling. We will stop for the night and in the morning we can go to the market and ask around about rumors of the assassin in Roma – surely they will think we are simply curious foreigners looking for gossip."

Margherita nodded, "That works."

Lifting the hem of her new skirt, she followed as the Auditore matriarch led their little ragtag group to the nearest inn.

* * *

><p>The next morning was painful. After a few weeks travelling on foot and sleeping on makeshift sleeping bags, an actual bed made all three women want nothing more than to laze about all day. Unfortunately, they had work to do and a pesky assassin to find and those spare funds Maria had kept hidden in her bodice were almost gone.<p>

"I was a little apprehensive of coming to Roma," Margherita explained. "I had heard that the dreaded White Devil – the terrible Assassin from Firenze had come to Roma as well."

"Ah," the plump peasant admitted. "He has indeed come. And a good thing, too. I've heard that he is here to rid Roma of the Borgia. They have gotten their claws into every inch of the city and we were better off without them."

Margherita nodded and bid her goodbye.

"Margherita! Margherita!"

The blonde followed the voice which led her directly to Claudia… and Machiavelli. Oh thank God! The man had always seemed like a super control-freak and so of course, of course he would know where exactly Ezio had skipped off to.

As she approached the duo, she voiced her appreciation, "Oh thank God! I swear, if I had to talk to one more vendor who wants to bitch about taxes or one more peasant woman who wants to share her fantasies about screwing the God-like Assassin, I would have speared someone."

Machiavelli blinked at her for a moment and Margherita blushed.

This man had always made her feel like she was five years old.

"Oh, and there is mother – Mother! Mother! Over here!" Claudia waved for her with true noblewoman grace. Margherita would have simply swiped an arm up in the air, back and forth to get the woman's attention. Maria joined them silently.

"Ezio is probably at the local brothel," Machiavelli explained.

Margherita's eyebrows shot up and she let out a squeak of, "What?"

The man deadpanned a look at her, clearly thinking she was an idiot for cutting him off before he could even end his sentence. "He is trying to enlist the courtesans as spies," he finished explaining.

"Oh…" Now Margherita felt terribly embarrassed.

"And where is this brothel?" Claudia asked, finally getting down to business. Machiavelli gave them the directions and told them he would be happy to escort them there, but unfortunately had business elsewhere that he was late for. Margherita doubted that he had ever been late to anything in his life but when he left she gave him an especially deep nod to make up for her earlier foolishness.

The brothel had the potential to be beautiful. Having spent a decent amount of time at Teodora's brothel, Margherita knew what was considered to be a good, high class brothel and what was basically considered a whorehouse. There was a difference, she had learned. One day she had referred to La Rosa Della Virtu as a whorehouse and one of the courtesans had informed her that she was an ignorant little prude (Margherita had snorted at that noun) and that courtesans may be paid for their favors but there was a distinct difference between a prostitute and a courtesan. So, Margherita had shut the fuck up and never referred to the brothel as a whorehouse again.

Claudia took charge, as always, and knocked on the front door.

It was almost immediately yanked open by a woman – a courtesan – who glanced at the three other women in front of her and immediately frowned at them. Her hair was fake (but not unattractive, per se) blonde, tied up in two braid-cones on the top of her head. For a courtesan, she was pretty.

"You are not Madonna Solari," she pouted.

"Obviously," Margherita snarked from over Claudia's shoulder.

The courtesan's scowl only deepened and she was just about to open her mouth again to tell these intruders off when someone else butted in and pushed the door open completely to reveal another courtesan. "Who are you and what are you doing here? We are very busy," the new courtesan explained.

This courtesan had deep auburn hair, also braided up in the traditional style, but she had little charms laced around the braiding. Her lips were a deep ruby red, which increased the paleness of her skin.

"My name is Claudia Auditore," the aforementioned woman said. "This is my mother, Maria Auditore and this is my…" she glanced at Margherita, uncertain of how to introduce her. Margherita understood the confusion. By this point in time, she should have been part of the family and simply introduced as her sister-in-law. But that hadn't happened. Instead, Monteriggioni had been attacked, their life had been ripped apart and now Margherita was Ezio's betrothed again.

"I'm Margherita Recci, a friend of the family," she cut in. The words cut at the inside of her mouth.

"And what do you want?" the courtesan asked suspiciously.

"We were told that Ezio Auditore was here," Claudia explained.

The courtesan turned back to someone who was just inside the brothel and she asked, "Do we have any clients call Ezio Auditore?"

Margherita cut in, "No, no. He's not a client. He… well, he's tall and has a beard. He was probably wearing a hood."

Realization flickered in the courtesan's eyes, "Oh! The handsome Assassin!" She stepped aside and ushered the three women into the brothel while simultaneously casting an eerie glance outside. "Follow me," she commanded and led the group up the staircase, passed an abundance of powerful men flirting (or, at least, trying to flirt) with the pretty courtesans, and out onto a balcony. "We can talk here," she explained.

"Who is Madonna Solari?" Margherita asked the moment they stopped.

"She is the owner of this brothel, the Rosa in Fiore," the courtesan's expression darkened. "She has been kidnapped. Your Assassin is currently trying to rescue her."

The original, blonde courtesan spoke up, "I don't know what we'll do without her!"

"Calm down," the redhead one said shortly. "It will be fine. They asked for a ransom. They won't kill her if they asked for a ransom."

"And you shouldn't underestimate Ezio," Margherita just had to interject.

"Mother? Sister? Margherita?"

Speak of the Devil.

And suddenly it didn't matter that he had ridden away into the sunset without her – without even a glance back, actually. Suddenly it didn't matter that he had wanted her safe and secure and alone in Firenze while he played hero over here in brothels with the pretty courtesans. Suddenly it didn't matter that she didn't feel wanted or needed by the one person she wanted and needed more than anyone else on this earth. All that mattered was the fact that he was within ten feet of her and he was safe.

They all turned to the familiar voice and Margherita felt her legs go weak. Ezio immediately made eye contact with her and she could see the concern in his eyes.

"Ezio," Maria took a step towards her son and Margherita was right behind her. "Machiavelli said that you might be here."

The assassin approached them cautiously asking, "What are you doing in Roma? Has Firenze been attacked?" Ah, that explained the concern in his eyes. He thought that the Borgia's destructiveness had reached all the way to Firenze, too.

"No," Claudia took control of the conversation. "Or rather, I don't know." She looked up at him with defiance in her eyes. The Auditore blood was boiling beneath the surface and she just dared him to contradict her. "We did not go to Firenze."

Any concern that had been in his eyes vanished and was quickly replaced by anger. "Why?" he inquired.

Claudia and Margherita shared a glance before Claudia lost her nerve and beseeched, "Ezio, we want to help!"

Ezio had noticed the shared glance between the two younger women and in response shot Margherita a dirty look. Apparently he was under the impression that this had all been orchestrated by the blonde. "I was trying to help you by sending you to Firenze," he argued, turning to look back at Claudia for a moment before returning his gaze back to the blonde's.

Before Margherita could inform him that going to Firenze would have helped no one, the blonde courtesan interrupted. "Where is Madonna Solari?" she asked.

He barely wasted a glance at the woman, "She's dead."

Margherita flinched at the harshness of his words – way to not even try to soften the blow, Ezio.

The courtesans apparently weren't terribly crushed regarding her death so much as the idea that they might now be out of work. One swore a loud oath while the other asked, "What now? Will we have to close?"

"You can not close," Ezio reached an arm out as though to physically keep her from leaving him. "I need your help."

Margherita almost snorted. Yeah, he needed the courtesan's help but not his own family's help. She had helped him plenty of times… when he had been poisoned, she had held him till Rosa could stitch him up. And… yeah, okay, that was about it. But it wasn't like she couldn't be helpful. She was smart. She was resourceful.

"Mister," the redhead explained. "Without someone who can run things, we are finished."

There was half a beat and then, "I'll do it."

All eyes turned to Claudia. She stood with her nose up in the air and her back straight. Margherita knew from experience that this girl had a spine of steel and a will of fire. And she was looking, not at the courtesans, but directly at Ezio.

The assassin was quick to argue. "You do not belong here, Claudia."

The blonde glanced at the courtesans to see how exactly they were taking that comment… which could have doubled as an insult. They seemed very nonchalant.

Claudia just couldn't seem to stop. "I know how to run a business. I ran Uncle Mario's for years."

Ezio leaned closer. "This is different."

"What alternative do you have, Ezio?" Maria interrupted. Ezio spared at least his mother a glance, though he pointedly ignored Margherita nodding right next to her.

It seemed the assassin realized that he was losing this battle. Suddenly a startling thought hit Margherita, hard. Were the Borgia so strong that Ezio was willing to give up this battle because he was that desperate for the resources the courtesans had? Margherita had hoped this conflict would end soon – Ezio would have simply slipped into the castello and slipped the hidden blade into their necks. Apparently not.

He pointed his forefinger and his middle finger at his sister. "You do this Claudia and you are on your own."

"I've been on my own for twenty years," she shot back.

"And she won't be alone," Margherita put in.

Ezio reeled around to frown at her. "What?" he asked.

"She won't be alone. I'll stay with her," she explained.

"No you won't," he argued.

"You told me to protect your sister and mother. Your mother is staying here with your sister and so I will, too."

His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with anger. She had upset him. Well, he had upset her. And suddenly it mattered that he had left her behind without a single glance back. She wasn't his wife yet, she didn't owe him any obedience.

"Fine," he spat. And then he spun around to observe the brothel. "I intend to repair the brothel. This place is a real mess." He turned back around and pointed at Claudia condescendingly. "And I want your courtesans to find Caterina Sforza."

Claudia crossed her arms and ignored the finger jutting at her. "You can count on us."

"What happened to Caterina?" Margherita asked.

It took Ezio a moment to respond. He continued looking at Claudia as though he was trying to decide whether or not he was even going to acknowledge Margherita's existence. What an asshole. He did however drag his eyes away from Claudia and frowned at his betrothed. "She was captured by Cesare Borgia during the siege," he explained shortly.

So Caterina had become a damsel-in-distress.

And of course, Ezio had a thing for women in distress.

And now he was pissed at Margherita.

Great.

The assassin gave each of them a glance, approached the edge of the balcony and hopped over. Margherita stumbled to the edge so that she could watch him leave but by the time she got there, he had already disappeared. She stuffed the desire to cry deep down inside herself and let out a shallow sigh.

"So," Claudia spoke up. "How about we start with your names?"

"Tessa," the redhead responded.

"Piera," the blonde said.

"Can we get a tour?" Margherita asked, finally leaving the balcony's edge.

Tessa nodded and escorted them back in. "The top floors are designated for clients, they are rented hourly. Each girl has her own room that doubles as their bedroom and their entertainment room. There isn't much to see," she explained and they detoured to the staircase. "The first floor is much more interesting. In the east wing of the bottom floor there is this room," she opened the ornate door.

A large room filled with couches set was exposed to the group. In the very front of the room, couches were set up to face a raised platform that was situated against the far wall in a circular fashion to form a make-shift stage. Towards the back, there were some little tables and couches and chairs all set up in multiple little circles to make conversing easier.

"This is the main entertainment room," Tessa said. "When there is a large group of men, or a party that makes its way here, this is where we put them. Sometimes girls will recite poetry or sing a song or play an instrument up on that stage. Sometimes girls and their clients can flirt and talk in the back and then slip out and up to their room, discreetly."

They left the room and moved on to the west wing. "These are the private rooms for the Madonna," Tessa said. "There are some extra rooms that we used to use for the very, very popular courtesans but Madonna Solari didn't want to pay for the repairs as the years went on. They are pretty shitty now, but if your Assassin friend is going to fix this place up he can definitely get those rooms livable and then you would all have a place to stay. The kitchen and dining room are just back there."

Claudia nodded. "Alright. I can work with this."

The room was richly decorated with beautiful furniture. Margherita broke away from the group and continued down the hall to the extra rooms.

"Yeah… I _can't_ work with this," she said. Claudia joined her and glanced inside.

There was only one window and apparently it had been left open. There was a layer of dirt on the floor and some bird droppings. Margherita gingerly crossed the room and closed the window. It immediately swung back open. The two girls exchanged looks before Tessa spoke up from the doorway, "Oh, this looks a lot better than I expected!"

"Are the other extra rooms this bad?" Margherita asked, worried.

"Worse," Tessa shot back.

"Let me look over your financial logs," Claudia was definitely all business now. Margherita sighed and simply followed her friend.

* * *

><p>There was an inn right across the street from the brothel. There was a reason for that – foreigners how had been so lonely on the road found comfort in the courtesans that were literally right next door. In this case however, it was the lady from the brothel who had gone to the inn.<p>

Claudia had reviewed the financial logs, complained about how badly Madonna Solari had kept everything recorded, and then made some decisions. All the upstairs rooms were taken by various courtesans. The only livable room in the west wing was Madonna Solari's bedchamber and her bed was only big enough for two people. Claudia offered Margherita the floor. When the blonde had simply stared at her with a look of, "Are you fucking serious?" Claudia finally sighed and handed her a bag of florins.

"Go to the inn across the street," she suggested. "When the rooms are finished you can move back."

"Can you afford to pay for the inn room?" Margherita asked.

"Well, Madonna Solari was an idiot, but there is money to spare. I plan to change the way this place is run. Eventually we'll be making a lot more money."

Margherita smiled at the girl. She was definitely an Auditore.

And thus, Margherita was banished to the inn while Maria and Claudia snuggled up together in their fancy room in the brothel.

With a heavy sigh, Margherita stripped down to her white under robe. She had discarded her bloodstained one and as promised, they had stopped and replaced her under robe and bought her a simple linen outer robe and some leather boots. If only Caterina Sforza could see her now – there were definitely servants that had been at the Villa who dressed better. And Margherita had had a chance to wash any of her clothing. At least she had managed to bathe in the rivers on their way to Roma. Perhaps when the brothel was making more money they could afford new clothes. Or they could ask Ezio to buy them… assuming he was still talking to them. Or, specifically, Margherita.

She turned to close the shutters when a shadow passed by the window, blocking the sun for a moment. Gasping for her life, she stumbled back, only to let out a breath of relief as the shadow's outline became clear.

"God, Ezio, don't fucking scare me like that!"

Wasn't it just a few months ago that he was assaulting her in the dark in a hotel room? Yeah, this was becoming a nasty habit…

"I need to talk to you so I followed you here," he explained, jumping down from the ledge.

Standing up, Margherita approached him cautiously. "Are you mad at me for taking your sister's side?"

He took a long, deep inhale. "No. A little bit. I don't want to talk about it, there are more pressing matters."

"What?" she was instantly alarmed and crossed the room to him. "Is there something wrong? Is the brothel in trouble?"

"No, no, no," he shook his head and then looked down at her. His expression had changed. The tension that had been there that afternoon had since vanished and was replaced by something else entirely… Margherita didn't know exactly what it was until he placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly kissed her.

She melted. Simply put, her bones turned to mush and she might have slid straight down to the floor had Ezio not chosen to wrap his arms around her waist at that very moment. He tilted her head back to deepen the kiss and suddenly they were all tongue and hands and it was all so familiar. She hadn't even realized how much she had missed him until he was back in her arms, his taste was back in her mouth and his hands were back on her heart.

It was like a dream. Before coming back from the ten year exile, Margherita would have described sex with Ezio as many wonderful things: pleasurable, relaxing, frantic, the perfect way to end a stressful day. But she never would have called it perfection, mystical, an action in which her soul and his soul became simply their soul.

But… it kind of was.

Margherita didn't even realize she was naked until Ezio's lips left her nipple and a shiver passed down her spine. Margherita didn't even realize Ezio was inside her until he hit her at the perfect angle to make her back arch and her lips release a whimper. Margherita didn't even realize she had climaxed until she was laying on top of Ezio, her ear over his gentle, slow heartbeat.

Dream-like.

"Hm," she mumbled. "I see you did miss me."

"Every second you were gone," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face.

Every second you were gone. Every second _you_ were gone. _Every second _you_ were gone._

The words bounced around her head for a moment. When had she left? She hadn't gone anywhere. She had stayed and watched him leave. She had been the one standing on the road watching him ride away… she had been the one watching the Apple blink out of existence and listening to her heart break inside her chest because she knew he wasn't coming back.

Pushing herself off of him, she ripped herself out of his grasp.

A shocked expression crossed his face as he watched her stand. In her full naked glory, glowing in the moonlight, Margherita glared down at him. "I didn't go anywhere," she bit out.

Bending over, she found her bloomers and slipped those on. Ignoring her breast band, she simply threw on her under robe and then stooped to pick up Ezio's robes. The assassin had sat up to watch her fumbling and so she chucked his clothes at him. Luckily he caught them before they hit him in the face.

"Are you saying I did?" he asked.

"You always do," she shot back, pointing out the window. "And you can leave now, too."

Ezio stood up, ignoring his own nakedness, and followed her to the window. He grabbed her by the shoulders and when she tried to squirm her way out of his grasp he pushed her against the wall, not harshly, but certainly none too gently either.

"You don't honestly want me to leave," he challenged.

Margherita set her jaw. "I've never wanted you to leave. But you always do."

He leaned down closer to her so that he could stare into her eyes. "I'm sorry I left you back there, but Mario had just died, Margherita. The Apple had just been stolen. I needed to get to Roma as fast as possible."

Closing her eyes for a second, she breathed deeply. She could understand what he was saying. But that wasn't what she meant and that frustrated her. She vocalized these frustrations. "I'm not just talking about that."

"When else, then?"

Her eyes shot open. "You left me for ten years."

"And you forgave me!"

"No! I did no such thing!" She pushed him away from her and this time he went willingly. "You always leave! Maybe it was different when there weren't any promises, but you said you were settling down, you said that part of your life was over and you wanted to marry me and then you went ahead and broke those promises and left me without a single glance back."

"And you thought that to punish me you would drag my sister and mother to Roma – to danger?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Margherita huffed, "Coming here was Claudia's idea. I tried to talk her out of it but your mother wanted to come too. I was outnumbered. If I had had it my way, I would have been a good little wife and followed your orders perfectly and I would be waiting for you oh so patiently in Firenze."

They stood in silence. Ezio turned to look out the window. Margherita sat herself down on the bed. The minutes ticked by as each tried to review what the other had said.

Finally Ezio spoke up softly, still facing the window. "I won't leave again."

It took a few beats, but Margherita quietly responded, "If you leave again I'll follow you."

"I would expect nothing less."

"Good."

"Fine."

Ezio glanced back at her. "There is a hideout southeast of here. It's where I sleep. I would like you to join me there."

She nodded her understanding. "The rooms for guests at the brothel are in need of repair. I would prefer not to waste money by staying here until those repairs can be made. When they are finished however, I will be staying there."

The assassin paused slightly but eventually returned her nod. "Would you like me to stay? Or would you prefer me to leave?"

Glancing around the room, everywhere except him, Margherita finally admitted, "I would like you to stay."

And she welcomed him back into her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Hey! Guess what? It's a new chapter and the plot is beginning to _fester_.**

**One of my biggest pet peeves (probably originating in the Naruto fandom) is when an author takes an original character and throws them into a new, typically harsher lifestyle, while giving very little attention to the motivation – especially when the lifestyle is particularly rough and the character is particularly sheltered (and what is more sheltered than a teenager living in the 21st century?). For example – original character falls into Naruto-universe, the love interest her author has in mind for her is a ninja, so she will become a ninja too. 'Cause hey, if you fell into the Naruto-universe wouldn't you want to be a ninja too? I would. I totally would – up until I got hit in the face or kicked in the stomach or lit on fire by a jutsu. Yeah… really?**

**The same thing goes for Assassin's Creed Universe. Girl falls into universe. Girl meets up with Ezio and pals. Girl follows Ezio around and calls herself an assassin. Well yeah, I think that sounds like fun – up until I'm expected to do a Leap of Faith and my fear of heights kicks in and I need to be carried down, or up until I stab someone and my fear of blood kicks in and I faint. Also, not that fast of a runner – no upper body strength to speak of… yeah, and I figure _I'm pretty normal_. So – I don't get how someone can plop your average teen into the Renaissance and suddenly call them assassins, or even come up with a believable reason for why they would _chose_ that kind of life. I mean, Ezio saw his brothers and father killed and that still didn't convince him to become an assassin – it was that, coupled with the desire to protect his mother and sister (and uncle) that finally led him down that path.**

**What am I trying to get at, you're wondering?**

**This is kind of difficult for me. Yes, some of you guessed it – Margherita is graduating. No longer is she the vain, narcissistic, whiny, snarky_, inventor_. No – now, she's going to become the vain, narcissistic, whiny, snarky, _assassin_ (who sometimes invents things, you know, when she's bored). And that transition is painful. Painful!**

**You want to know why? Because she's vain and narcissistic and whiny and really doesn't like manual labor and that's how I made her and now I need to figure out why in the hell she would ever want to get dirty and do… things… like, that assassins do. Because normally, she wouldn't. So, that's my challenge of the day and I figured it's never too early to plant the seeds of assassin-hood and resentment and so the seeds have been planted… and I just wanted you to know that it was very painful to do so. At least this game lends itself very nicely to the transition of normal people to full fledged assassins.**

**Anyways, if you happen to read something in this chapter or a future one that makes you go, "Ginny, what the hell are you doing? Are you serious? Really? Really? That makes no sense. Margherita would never say/do something like that – it's too Mary-Sue. You're getting lazy, Ginny – your realism is faltering," then by golly gosh geez – you tell me that I will fix it.**

**Enjoy.**

**(Also, I think this takes the cake for longest Author's Note I've ever written. For any story. Ever. It's like 1/14 of my whole chapter. Dear Lord.)**

* * *

><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

* * *

><p>In the early morning two voices could be heard conversing in bed.<p>

"Are you going to bring it up, or should I?"

"I don't know what I want to do at this point. It doesn't seem like the best time."

"Well, it isn't the best time."

"But it's never going to be the best time."

"So should we do it now?"

"Right now?"

"Or within a few days."

"Would you be ready by then?"

"Would you?"

"Do you still _want_ to do this?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Yes."

"Alright."

"Okay."

Margherita sat up and sighed. "I'll talk to Claudia today about getting together a small ceremony."

Ezio watched her stand. "Before you return to the brothel I would like to show you where the hideout is, so that you can go there each night." He paused for a moment. "You still want to stay with me, right?"

Responding with a hazy nod, Margherita got dressed. Sure, he had hurt her. But she still loved him and had missed him and if she couldn't stay at the brothel, she was going to remain with Ezio. The assassin followed her example and the two set out. "Lead the way, my assassin," Margherita snarked.

* * *

><p>She blinked. Yeah, she could work with this.<p>

Sure, it wasn't the standard home setup – there was no main entrance room, there was no kitchen or dining room, there was no actual bedroom. There was however, a small stove in the back room and a small table with two chairs. And, she realized, her meals would probably be taken with Claudia and Maria at the brothel anyways. She wondered if Ezio would be joining them as well… It was one thing to forgive his betrothed; it was another thing to forgive his pesky little sister.

"The bed is back here," Ezio explained, showing her into the room. It would fit two people, Margherita noted and was in a more isolated location in the back room. Good. No one would walk in on them enjoying their honeymoon. "How do you like it?"

She surveyed the room one more time. "It works," she said.

"Ha, I'm glad of your approval."

"Are you trying to snark with me?" she asked, approaching him with a swagger in her step. "Because truly Ezio, no one can _ever_ out-snark me."

The assassin gave a chuckle and met her steps forward by grasping her hips. "I would never think to ever try to out-snark you, my love."

He kissed her. And just like that, their discussion last night was forgotten… for now.

* * *

><p>The first time Margherita had experienced a wedding ceremony in this century, it had been her own. It had been a desperate affair, fearful and quick. She had worn her best dress. Leonardo had smiled uneasily at her and held her hand. The whole while, Margherita had prayed to some foreign deity that this was a viable solution to their problem. When it was finally announced by the priest that they were married, Margherita had felt her heart clench and her stomach drop to her knees.<p>

This time, it was a little different.

Claudia and Maria were in attendance. Leonardo was not. Neither was Rosa. And it was Ezio standing across from her, smiling every time Margherita glanced over at him. She was wearing a dress Ezio had bought her last minute before the ceremony – after Claudia had nagged him, of course (What else were little sisters good for, after all?). The whole time, she listened to the flowing Latin language the priest was reciting, wondering vaguely what it meant and thinking perhaps to learn the language (She was always looking for a new hobby – even though nothing quite compared to her hot air balloon). And when the priest announced that they were officially married, Margherita grinned and turned to Ezio so that they could share a kiss (One of many, many, to come, she promised herself).

With happiness coursing through her body, she followed Ezio back to Tiber Island and they shared their wedding night together.

"Wife," he called her, holding his hand out to guide her to their bed.

"Wife," he grunted, as he slipped inside her.

"Wife," he whispered, as they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>The architect finished within two months, but Margherita didn't move back. Claudia promised she would always have a room ready, though, just in case.<p>

While Claudia was the one in charge, Maria worked as an overseer, making sure all of the girls had everything they needed. Margherita's jobs included helping change bed linen and running errands for her sister-in-law (oh the joy of finally being able to say those words!). Ezio called her an "errand girl". Margherita called him an "asshole".

But in all honesty, Margherita did have to say that mindless labor was getting on her nerves. After ten years of bouncing from project to project that challenged her intellect and another ten years after that of spending most of her time reading and researching, changing stained bed linen was not something she even vaguely enjoyed. Please keep in mind, this was a brothel. Stained linen is very different from dirty linen. Stained linen was still sometimes wet. Or sticky. But overall, disgusting.

But Claudia needed the help…

And then one day a strange woman entered the room Margherita was cleaning, and took over her job without a word. Margherita stared at her for moment, confused, before she went to find Claudia in the main lobby room.

"I hired a maid," she explained, not even looking up from her log book. "My sister-in-law shouldn't be cleaning rooms."

The blonde leaned against her desk. "What exactly should your sister-in-law be doing instead?" she snarked.

"The girls are inexperienced," Claudia complained. "Madonna Solari was a true idiot. They don't know how to pickpocket, they don't know how to distract guards, they don't know how to use any kind of poison! It's ridiculous!"

Margherita blinked at the younger girl. "You can bitch all you want, Claudia, but what do you want _me_ to do?"

"Teach them," she simply put, placing the log book down finally.

"And what makes you think I know anything about being a courtesan?" she crossed her arms.

Claudia chuckled. "I'm certain you know all there is to know about what a courtesan does in the bedroom. But you've also spent a lot of time with thieves and Ezio – you know what he needs. Anything is better than what they know now."

She uncrossed her arms and frowned at Claudia. Then she thought about. Then she decided it was a good idea.

"I'll go make a list of skills," she mumbled and left the room.

For the next few days, Margherita spent time reviewing and re-reviewing. She spoke with the courtesans – specifically, Tessa – about what they knew and didn't know. There were also all of the memories she had of the video game – all the things she remembered the courtesans in the game doing. Finally when she had a full comprehension about what they needed to know, she worked out a plan of attack and then a class schedule. Claudia allowed them time off from their scheduled clients in rotations so that they could take Margherita's classes but the brothel could still run.

Armed with her attack plan, Margherita stood in front of the first three girls. All three of them were scheduled for this time and all of them seemed to be looking forward to learning. "Anything to help the handsome Assassin," they had said.

Margherita had bitten her tongue to keep herself from reminding them that that handsome Assassin was her husband.

"Okay," Margherita glanced between them, intimidated for a moment. Then her eyes flickered down to the sheet in her hand. Oh, right. Her safety blanket. "Let's start with the basics. We're going to go for a walk. Follow me."

She led them out of the brothel and into the streets.

"I like the outfit, Margherita," one of them commented.

The blonde glanced down at herself. Oh. Yeah. She had borrowed one of Tessa's dresses. She didn't want to stand out like a sore thumb with the other courtesans. As far as anyone knew, they were just four courtesans walking around, flirting with some guards. Not a big deal.

"Thank you," Margherita murmured. Then she focused her attention back to the lesson. "You see those guards over there?"

Not thirty feet left of the inn that was across the street, a group of guards stood in a circle. The street was busy with the normal afternoon traffic, but their uniforms made them stick out like sore thumbs.

They all nodded.

"When Ezio is out and about, he needs to stay out of their sight. Sometimes the crowd will cover him enough. Sometimes there _isn't_ a crowd and he'll need you. There is a scheduled rotation still in place for you to draw customers in. When you are out on your rotations there are only four of you – hardly enough to be considered a crowd. Claudia can't afford to release any more of you so you need to compensate. This can be done multiple ways: approaching the guards to keep their focus away from Ezio, or walking with him and simultaneously flirting with the guards from afar. Either way, the guards will totally ignore Ezio and instead focus on you.

"When you approach them, the goal is to keep their attention as long as you need to before slipping away with making them suspicious. Make excuses. Be polite. But once Ezio is out of danger, you _need_ to get yourself out of danger as well. If you're too abrupt though, the guards will instantly realize you were just a cover. Also, some girls still need to stay back in case there are more guards later on. Two girls is probably the most needed to approach guards, with two staying back.

"When you walk with him – as I said – you aren't enough of a crowd to totally block him from view of the guards so you need to distract them. That means doing the same things you do when you're trying to seduce new clients. The only difference is that you can't get them so riled up that they abandon their station and follow you… because then they would see Ezio, too.

"Any questions?"

The three girls shook their heads.

Margherita smiled, nodded and whipped out a fan from her bodice. Flapping it flirtatiously, she said, "Then let's practice."

* * *

><p>The next few days passed in a similar manner – wake up, fight Ezio off of her with excuses of being late, shove fruit down her throat in an impromptu breakfast, arrive at brothel, grab the girls she would be working with for that day, walk around the city teaching both by instruction and example, treat the girls to lunch with money they had pick-pocketed, return the girls to the brothel, grab food in the market, arrive at the hideout, cook the food, have dinner with Ezio, take a bath, have sex with Ezio, sleep, do it all again the next day.<p>

It was a pleasant sort of life.

"Good job, everyone!" Margherita gushed. They stood in the lobby, and Margherita had just finished last minute notes. "Okay, you all seem to have the basics down. In the next rotation we'll go over some other methods of distraction and evasion." Okay, she was being vague purposefully – she had no idea what the lesson for the next rotation would be. "So, yeah… Good job, again, and I'll see y'all next week."

And with that, the lesson was adjourned. Two of the girls thanked Margherita and left, but one remained. Margherita took note of this and asked, "Is something wrong Masina?"

The olive skinned brunette shook her head, but still hesitated in leaving. Finally, her gaze flickered to the older woman and she opened her mouth, "Will we be learning how to use weapons?"

"Weapons?" Margherita inquired, leaning against the counter in the lobby. "What did you have in mind?"

Masina shifted slightly, and glanced away. "Forget about it," she finally mumbled and tried to walk away. The blond stood up straight and grabbed her arm.

"No, seriously, what did you have in mind? I'm new to this whole let's-teach-courtesans thing, so I'm always looking for new things to focus on. I've never been a courtesan, I don't know what kinds of things you are able to do or what kinds of skills you guys need to know, or should know, or whatever." Margherita let the girl go and leaned back against the counter now that Masina didn't look like she was going to vault. "Are you thinking of learning how to disarm a guard and use their weapons against them? Or are you thinking of arming the courtesans?"

Briefly Margherita recalled how in the game the courtesans were, in fact, armed with daggers.

"Well, my brother gave me this," Masina pulled a small dagger from the folds of her skirt. She placed it into Margherita's outstretched hand. The blonde turned it over, observing the finer details of the knife. It was well worn but when she pressed it lightly against her thumb, it still drew blood. Margherita gave it back. "Even though I carry it, I can't use it – I don't know how. Last time I had to use it, he got it out of my hand and threw it across the room."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Margherita grabbed the girl by the shoulders and tried to catch her gaze, but it stayed firmly on the floor. "Who is "he" and when did this happen?"

"It was a while ago, don't worry about it. It was just a client." The girl glanced up and shook her head. "It's not like that kind of stuff doesn't happen, Margherita. We're bodies for hire; men buy us and can do what they want. Some men like us in pain. It just gets dangerous when the men try to kill us – that's why I pulled my dagger. Please don't worry," she pleaded. "It's gotten a lot better now that our brothel is run by the womenfolk of an assassin."

Margherita released the girl and reached around the counter for some parchment and a quill. "What do you suggest?" she glanced at her, but when Masina just gaped at her Margherita clarified, "Like, um…" She started jotting words down. "Close combat – grabs, holds, breaking both, weak spots, whistles," she put a big question mark next to that one, "weapons –"

"Daggers, swords, hammers," Masina put in.

"Yes…" the older woman wrote that down. Then the quill came up to her lips in thought… "What about poison?"

"Poison works."

"Arming the girls with daggers is a good idea… but what about something that seems less threatening…" Suddenly, the blonde reached over the counter again and grabbed another piece of paper. Margherita bent over, blocking Masina's view of the paper as she scribbled a drawing onto the parchment. "Hm… sheathed in the shoe? Or a hair decoration?"

Even though she couldn't see the paper, Masina spoke up, "What about the fan?"

"The fan!" Margherita exclaimed, pointing her quill at Masina in her excitement. Immediately, she moved to another section of the paper to begin another drawing.

"Welcome to the Rosa in Fiore, as you can see, the most popular brothel in Roma," Claudia's voice rang out. Masina looked over, as Claudia personally greeting a customer was rare and noted who had just arrived. Margherita couldn't be bothered – sometimes she was as bad as Leonardo when she was engrossed in a project.

"Ah, Ezio," she breathed.

Now, _that_ got Margherita's attention. Her husband very rarely visited the brothel, and when he did, he met with the architect, pestered Margherita about her "errand girl" status and then left.

"My money went well invested," the assassin stated. Apparently he hadn't noticed his wife over by the counter as he approached his mother and sister.

"Here I keep a list of the skills taught to my girls," the younger Auditore was explaining to her brother.

Margherita gave her fledgling sketch one last look over and then shoved it into her traveling satchel, along with the paper filled with the additional curriculum. "Thank you for your help," she said softly to Masina, touching her arm gently. Then she made her way over to her husband and her in laws.

"Who is teaching them?" Ezio asked, glancing over the curriculum Margherita had drawn up herself. He was suspicious. In fact, it was probably her handwriting that had given her away – those sloppy strokes that were supposed to symbolize written words but looked more like the abstract languages far to the East.

"I am," she spoke up as she joined them.

"You?" the assassin questioned. His eyebrows shot down – he didn't seem too pleased about that. And then his eyes traveled down her body… Oh yes, she had forgotten that she was wearing a courtesan-worthy outfit, once again borrowed from Tessa. His expression darkened.

"I said I would be helping Claudia with the brothel," she explained. "I was sick of being an "errand girl" as you liked to tease, and Claudia informed me that, while these girls make very good bed partners, they are hardly the underground army of spies you need. I'm relatively smart and I know what you need. So, I'm teaching them."

Ezio frowned but closed his mouth and glanced back over the list. "You are not teaching them much," he complained.

Margherita bit her tongue to prevent herself from snapping at him. She was saved from responding tersely because Claudia challenged, "Think you could do better?"

"No problem," he shrugged. Cocky fucking bastard. Why had she married him again?

"Ezio," Maria interrupted, hoping to calm her two children down. "The Borgia make it difficult for Claudia's girls and Margherita is only one person trying to instruct over forty girls. There are several things you could do that would aid them…"

Though he didn't seem too eager to help, he nodded sharply, "I will keep that in mind. Anything else?"

Margherita opened her mouth to bring up the discussion she had had with Masina just moments earlier. If Ezio could teach her some blocks and grabs, and some ways of evading being grabbed – maybe even how to use a dagger, then Margherita could pass those skills along to the courtesans and nothing like what had happened to Masina would ever happen again – at least, not in this brothel and not to these girls.

However, Claudia was apparently too frustrated to deal with Ezio and so she snapped, "No." But then her angry face faded to a simple pout as the steam seemed to leave her engines. "Ezio –" she began to apologize.

"Did you find Caterina?" he asked, pointing a lone finger at his sister.

God, not Caterina again. Privately, he would ask Margherita about the progress because he was still too frustrated with his sister to personally ask her. Every single time, Margherita had to tell him that she hadn't been found yet but they were still working on it.

"We are working on it," his sister admitted.

"Good," he spoke sharply. "Come see me at Tiber Island with her location," he commanded. And with that… he was gone.

Claudia crossed her arms and watched him go without a word. Margherita simply frowned. "Caterina seems to be a top priority," the blonde commented.

"She's a valuable ally," Maria explained. "And Ezio must feel responsible for her capture."

"And Mario's death," Claudia added.

Margherita barely had it in her heart to nod in agreement, but in the end her head bobbed up and down. Then she removed the piece of parchment with the new curriculum from her satchel. "Claudia, Maria, I have something to discuss with you," she said. After the lengthy explanation of why weapons and the knowledge of how to use them was necessary, as outlined by Masina's experience, Claudia was in agreement.

"Yes, Tessa mentioned it to me the other day. I was actually going to ask you to add defensive fighting to the curriculum, but I figured that I'd wait until all the girls had the basics down."

"Well," Margherita replaced the parchment in her satchel. "I can call in a specialist –"

"Like Ezio," Claudia suggested distastefully. Even she didn't seem too keen on the idea either.

"Yes, like Ezio. But I don't think he'll go for it. You saw the look he gave me when he found out I was the one teaching the girls." Margherita groaned, "My God, he can go on all the adventures he likes, but heaven forbid the womenfolk get involved."

"He is worried for our safety, Margherita," Maria said – as always, the voice of wisdom.

"I know," she brushed some of her hair back. "But I still feel like there's a double standard going on."

"Anyway," Claudia broke in, "What would be the other option?"

"I can ask someone to help teach me – if Ezio really wants to protect me, he should be more than willing to teach me how to defend myself in case he's not there. Then, I can pass that on to the girls."

Claudia nodded, thinking this over. "Yes, that should work."

"Good," Margherita smiled. "I have the lesson plan for my next rotation."

* * *

><p>Margherita sure hoped Ezio appreciated her lugging their dinner home. Jesus, that duck weighed more than a flippin' toddler, she decided as her arms started to quiver under the weight. She barely made it in time to throw the damned thing on the table and glare at it. Fucking stupid duck. It was almost done cooking when Ezio finally arrived home.<p>

Home? Home? What a foreign concept. This little – well, actually, quite spacious – hideout had become a place Margherita thought of as home. Actually, her life wasn't as far off from how she had imagined it – when she was younger she had bounced around the idea of becoming a teacher and having a husband and returning from work to prepare a meal for her family. It was nice… you know, how her 21st century fantasy had translated relatively well to her Renaissance reality.

Ezio was mostly silent through dinner. Which was kind of unusual… normally he would discuss his activities for that day. Apparently he was still a little upset.

"You're angry," Margherita claimed.

"No I'm not," he shot back.

"If you weren't angry, you wouldn't know what I was talking about."

He scowled. "I don't like the idea of you teaching the courtesans."

"Someone needs to," she asserted.

Wiping his mouth, Ezio asked, "Do you honestly think you're qualified to teach them what they need to know?"

Margherita blinked, momentarily stunned. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Giving a big loud sigh, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "All I'm saying is that you've lived a very sheltered life, Margherita."

Leaning her cheek against her fisted hand, she asked, "How so, Ezio?"

"You've spent your entire life being taken care of – Leonardo paid the bills and you tinkered with your toys and your experiments. Yes, perhaps you are qualified to teach the courtesans how to flirt since you also spent a good deal of time doing that, but any barmaid knows how to get a man distracted. I just don't think you're up for the job and I can't afford to have the courtesans be incompetent – not when I have the Borgia to deal with as well."

She sat in silence, staring at the grains of the wooden table.

"Look, Margherita, I don't mean to insult you."

It started with a slow, single nod and grew to be almost an instinctive head bobbing. She stood without a word and cleared the table. As she reached for Ezio's plate, his hand around her wrist stopped her. "Margherita, please understand," he begged, realizing now that he had honestly upset her.

"I do understand," she said softly.

And he let her take his plate.

Ezio went to take a bath. After she was done with the dishes, she was supposed to also bathe and then retire to the pseudo-bedroom with Ezio. Instead, she put on her cloak and left.

She was barely out the door when she bumped into Machiavelli.

"Awfully late to be taking a walk, isn't it, Margherita?" he asked.

Giving a small smile – too tired to feel even a little bit embarrassed or intimidated by this man, she explained, "I'm staying at the brothel tonight."

"Ah, and how _are _things at the brothel? I hear everything is back up to tip-top shape and Ezio might actually be able to rely on the courtesans for delicate matters."

"We're getting there," she explained. "I'm actually the one teaching them their skills…" Margherita glanced back at the door, "Even if some people think I'm only qualified to teach them how to be a whore."

Machiavelli caught her disgruntled look and smiled. "I'm certain you will make a great teacher," he said. And he seemed sincere.

"Thank you," she replied, returning the smile. Maybe this guy wasn't as big a hard-ass as she had thought previously.

"If that is all, I have business with your husband." He nodded and made a move to go passed her.

"Wait!" Margherita caught his arm. "You know how to fight, don't you?"

The man blinked at her for a moment before he slowly said, "I am an assassin. I know how to fight."

And there he went making her feel like a small child again. Great. But, he was her best shot given that Ezio was being an ass and there was no way in hell she would ever be able to find Le Volpe on her own – that man was less human, more living shadow.

"Could you teach me?"

"You want to be an assassin?" he asked.

"No, I just need to know enough to be able to teach my girls – and I'm not asking about how to break someone's neck or gut them like a fish… more like, how to get out of a hold – where to hit an opponent to keep them from running after you – maybe also how to wield a dagger so that the girls have some offensive protection." She stopped to take a breath. "Please, these girls are defenseless out there. If it's not their clients getting rough on them, it's the guards that will inevitably attack them if they realize that that pretty girl who was just flirting with them was actually helping the assassin escape."

Crossing his arms, he looked her over. "And why can't Ezio do this?"

"I already told you, he doesn't think I'm qualified. He was against us coming to Roma, he was against us taking over the Rosa in Fiore, and he is against me even teaching the girls how to distract the guards… It would be a waste to have someone come the brothel every single day to teach the girls – the system works like a rotation so that the brothel can still run at the same time. If you just teach _me_, I can teach _all_ the girls."

He let out a breath from his nose, deflating a bit. "And Ezio will be okay with this?"

"Ezio never comes to the brothel. He'll never have to know."

"Fine. I'll be by tomorrow at noon." He held out a hand.

Margherita shook it gratefully, smiling and saying, "Thank you so much, Machiavelli."

The two parted ways and the blonde was left to transverse the dark streets of Roma alone. Which isn't as scary as one would think… having walked the modern day streets even later into the night. Pulling the cloak closer around her body, she smiled to herself. Not qualified, her ass. Ezio could complain about her "sheltered life" as much as possible, but God damn everything, she was the wife of an assassin and she was sick of being left on the sidelines. As she got within sight of the Rosa in Fiore, she set her jaw in a firm line.

For the first time, she knew the determination of an Auditore.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, um - who's happy that they're finally hitched? Show of hands, anyone?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: This is short. My apologies. I'll try better next time. Mostly because I miss Leonardo – he was my soulmate in a previous life.**

**Also, I was just waiting to poke fun at Machiavelli and his satire, The Prince. Maybe more to come on that, but I really liked being able to mention it in this chapter. And I really like the interaction between Margherita and Machiavelli. The two of them banter back and forth and it's so rare to find someone that Margherita is honestly intimidated by that when those two get together, you know there's gonna be a party. Or a funeral. Either way, it will involve some fantastically overpriced alcohol.**

**Also, thank you to everyone who told me how happy they were that the two lovebirds finally tied the noose - I mean, um, knot. You know. They tied the knot. The knot. Yup.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

* * *

><p>Margherita arrived back at the brothel. Claudia was awake doing some late night work and greeted her sister-in-law with a confused look.<p>

"What's wrong?" she asked, standing up from her desk and crossing the room to the blonde.

Sliding the cloak off, Margherita frowned, "Everyone is still alive and kicking, if that's what you're asking. Ezio and I had a fight. Can I stay here?"

"My home is your home, Margherita," Claudia guided her out of the office and down the hall to the spare bedroom. "What happened? Was he that upset about you teaching the courtesans?"

Uncharacteristically ditching her cloak on the bed in a haphazard pile, Margherita huffed. "Well, Maria was wrong. He certainly wasn't trying to protect me – he's under the impression that I _can't_ teach the courtesans because, you know, what do _I_ know about being a courtesan besides screwing a man?" Plopping onto the bed, she groaned and wiped her face – she didn't even mind if her makeup came off at this point. "I'm getting too old for this, Claudia. I feel like all I've been doing is fighting with Ezio. It's gotten so frequent that I just don't have the energy anymore. Normally I would have bitched him out, or screamed or just responded – instead I just nodded and waited for him to take a bath and then I left. I didn't want to argue anymore. I didn't want him to try to stop me – I've always wanted him to stop me before, always wanted him to tell me to come back because I always wanted to come back. I don't want to go back now." She buried her face in her hands, "Was it a mistake to marry him?"

"Margherita, I can't imagine you two being with anyone else except each other," Claudia sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "This is probably just a rough patch – I know after our father and brothers were killed Ezio definitely went through a bit of a mental breakdown. You weren't there to see it."

"I was with Leonardo," Margherita mumbled.

"Exactly. So, I think it'll just take some time, but you'll get back where you need to be. Okay?" Claudia leaned her head against Margherita's shoulder and the blonde moved closer to the physical contact.

"Yeah," she muttered.

"I need to get back to work, and it's late and you've had a long day. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

Claudia untangled herself from Margherita and stood to leave. She nearly bumped into Ezio.

And boy did the assassin look pissed.

He apparently hadn't even gotten redressed – instead he was clad in old breeches and a nightshirt. Even his hair was still damp from his bath, and unbound, falling around his shoulders. His honey eyes were glittering with rage.

"I would have thought you had been kidnapped," he began. "I would have assumed that someone had snuck into the hideout – that the Borgia had found Tiber Island and had gotten in without a sound and had _taken you!_" Ezio took a step into the room, but didn't come any closer. Mostly because Claudia had shifted so that she was positioned between the two newlyweds and that was threat enough to keep the assassin where he was.

Some people fight fire with fire. Margherita fought Auditore with Auditore.

"She left," Claudia informed him, snobbishly.

Ezio growled, "I'm aware that she left. After my meeting with Machiavelli I went looking for you," he addressed Margherita, but when she didn't even make eye contact, suddenly interested in the pattern of the bed sheets, he focused back on Claudia. "When I couldn't find her, I naturally thought that something terrible had happened – I have a lot of enemies and she can hardly take care of herself. Immediately I left to go find her. Thank God Machiavelli was still there and had seen you leave and had asked where you were going."

Margherita still didn't respond.

So Claudia did. "Well, she's here, she's safe and next time she'll get your permission before leaving like the good wife she is."

"Claudia," Ezio warned. "Stay out of this. I'm here to speak to my wife."

"I'm listening," Margherita finally spoke up from behind the younger Auditore. "Truly, I am." She spoke softly, tiredly. "Claudia, it's alright."

The girl looked between the husband and wife and finally, slowly made her way out of the room. As she passed him, Ezio gave her a wide berth, still angry at her interference. And then the two were left in silence. The assassin crossed his arms and stared at his errant wife.

"I'm only going to apologize for not telling you where I was going," she said.

"You want to stay here?" he asked.

"I don't want to stay at Tiber Island."

"Why? Because of what I said?"

"Partially. Mostly, I just think we need to take a break."

This furrowed his eyebrows. "A break? Margherita, we're married. Married people don't take breaks."

"I want to stay here," her voice grew in determination. "You have some assumptions about me – not unfounded, most certainly, but I'm trying to do something and you're telling me that I can't do it based on those assumptions. So, the way I see it – I need to do what I need to do and when – or if – I succeed then those assumptions will be forgotten. Until then, I can't be there. I'm sorry."

Ezio didn't say a word. He dropped his arms to his side and finally Margherita had the guts to look up at him. She had only ever seen him look this distraught once in a blue moon – it was an expression that made her feel uncomfortable… knowing that she was the one that had caused it.

But she knew what she needed to do… And even if she didn't, at least this felt right.

Giving her a half hearted nod, he turned to leave. He made it to the door before he paused and looked back. Margherita had since lowered her gaze – it was one thing to watch his retreating back when the Borgia was tearing him away, it was another thing to watch him leave knowing she had decided she wanted him to go.

So, she didn't see him approach her again. She did however hear his footfalls as he came to stand in front of her. She felt his wet hair stick to her cheek and his hot lips press against her forehead. She heard the light _pop_ of his kiss concluding. And she heard his footsteps retreat out the door again.

* * *

><p>"That was painful."<p>

"It gets worse."

"How much worse?"

"You'll see."

"You're a sadist."

"And you're making too many mistakes. I'm just correcting them."

"Using very painful methods!"

"The ends justify the means."

"That is so… Machiavellian."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

"And you never will."

"I'm okay with that. Now, get back into position."

"But that position hurts."

"I don't care. No, lower your hips. And your right knee needs to bend a bit more."

"Like this?"

"Perfect."

"You aren't checking out my ass, are you?"

"And risk Ezio's wrath?"

"…"

"Oh, yes, still a sore subject I see."

"Can we just focus on the lesson, please?"

"Oh, _now_ you want to focus on the lesson. For someone who practically begged me to teach them, you make a terrible student."

"Well, apparently I'm a spoiled little girl. I also was not aware it would hurt this much. Ezio makes it look so easy."

"For Ezio, it_ is_ easy."

Taking a deep breath, Margherita shifted ever so slightly to take some pressure off her knee. Instantly, Machiavelli was behind her, repositioning her leg. And this time, she tried to maintain that position. Margherita had thought he would just show up and run her through some elbow strikes or eye gauges… apparently not. First, she needed to know how to properly balance herself. And that hurt. Like a bitch.

In fact, Margherita was so focused on the pain that she didn't see the hand shooting out until it was inches from her face. Luckily, the fist stopped half an inch from her nose.

"What the hell?" she asked, popping out of balance-position and into what-the-fuck-position, complete with hands poised to slap the philosopher.

Machiavelli pulled his fist back. "Next lesson, blocking from that position."

Margherita blinked at him. "I asked for basic defense lessons, Machiavelli! Not a full course in hand-to-hand combat!"

The man raised an aristocratic eyebrow at her. "That might not be what you asked for, but it's what you want, isn't it?"

Her gazed dropped to the floor in thought. He was right.

"_I have a lot of enemies and she can hardly take care of herself,"_ that was what Ezio had said. Those had been the words bouncing around her head all night.

She had thought back to all the times she wished she had had the strength to fight back – when she had been raped, when she had been attacked by the thief in Leonardo's workshop. What if she had had the ability to take care of herself? How would her life have been different?

Slowly, she returned to the fighting stance.

"But I do need something to teach the girls, so can we eventually go over some basics?"

"Of course. Now, prepare yourself, this time I won't stop."

"Bring it on, dickhead."

* * *

><p>"I'm so sore!" Margherita massaged her thigh vigorously.<p>

"You know, if I hadn't seen you and Machiavelli practicing out on the back balcony, I would assume that you and he were doing something else that would have gotten you… sore," Claudia smirked at the blonde from behind her log books.

"That might explain the sore muscles, but the bloody knuckles." She turned her attention to the aforementioned knuckles that had since scabbed over. Who knew hitting a wooden board would hurt that much?

"Um, not really, it just depends on what you're into… if you know what I mean."

"Screw you, wench," she snarked and left the office. God, she needed a stiff drink. Heading back to the kitchen, she found that it was already occupied by Masina and… a man. "Oh, hey," Margherita greeted. They weren't entangled together, or even standing too close – but boyfriends were forbidden under the roof of the brothel… clients didn't like that.

"Margherita," Masina let out. "This is my brother, Dom," she introduced.

"Domenico Grecco," he corrected and reached out a hand for her to shake.

"Margherita Auditore," she shook his hand gratefully. "Are you the brother who was nice enough to give Masina a dagger?"

"Why, yes, I was," he smiled.

Maybe it was because she hadn't seen Ezio in a few weeks. Maybe it was because all those endorphins from her new exercise schedule were running through her brain. Maybe his smile was just easy and nice and he seemed nice. Regardless, she returned his smile and was rather hesitant to let go of his hand. Short cropped brunette hair, flashing brown eyes, beautifully chiseled jaw… and probably a decade younger than her. And, not necessarily on par with her husband. But still, rather nice to look at.

"Are you the woman who is nice enough to teach these girls how to survive the streets?"

"Why, yes. I am."

From behind him, Masina grinned. She was just about to open her mouth when a voice from the lobby called out, "Margherita!"

She knew that voice. And she hadn't heard it in a while.

"Excuse me," she apologized and twisted to leave the room.

It seemed Ezio was too impatient to wait for her to respond – instead he decided to come find her. And find her, he did. Bursting into the kitchen, he glanced between his wife and the strange – and handsome – man who was also in the room. Apparently the other woman in the kitchen meant nothing. The tension was thick, but Margherita gave a light cough and finally Ezio focused on her.

"I need you back –" he glanced at the other people in the room. "I need you back home."

"Why, what's wrong?"

Margherita knew that Claudia had met with him and the other assassins two days before. The courtesans had found Caterina's location and Claudia had passed that information on to Ezio. Part of Margherita had wanted to go see Ezio yesterday… she missed him. She knew that rescuing Caterina would be a dangerous mission and she at least wanted to say her goodbyes. She also kind of wanted Ezio to remember that he had a wife – her greatest worry was that Ezio would get so caught up in saving the damsel in distress that, combined with their marital issues, he would do something he would regret.

"Just come with me," he said shortly.

Ouch. Fine. She would play good little wife.

It wasn't until they were in the street, midway to the hideout, that Margherita asked, "It's about Caterina isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Is she okay?"

Ezio finally spared her a glance, trying to figure out if she was sincere in her concern. "She was injured a little bit," he admitted, turning his attention back to the road ahead of them. "She'll be fine, but I want you to stay there with her."

"Um, what?" Margherita stopped in the middle of the street. The crowd parted to walk around her now that she was a living, breathing obstacle.

Giving a deep sigh, as though to say "God, she's misbehaving again," Ezio also paused in his journey and looked at her. "I want you to start living at Tiber Island again. Caterina can't move around – it was her leg that was injured and so someone needs to take care of her and keep her company."

"And you thought I would be the perfect person for this?"

He shrugged, "I didn't realize teaching courtesans was that time-consuming."

Well, it wasn't… but coupled with the fact that she was also juggling that and learning new moves from Machiavelli and practicing both the old and new moves alone to perfect them and not make a terribly big ass out of herself during the next training session… well, it was a wonder she had the energy to wake up in the morning.

"Well, it is," she argued. "And we've move on to some pretty complicated stuff. And I don't even _like_ Caterina."

This surprised the assassin. "You don't?" he asked.

"Um, well… not really," Margherita finally admitted. "Can't you just ask Claudia for a courtesan – surely one of them can wait on the countess on hand and foot."

The frown on his face was all she needed to see to know that she had disappointed him. To hit the point home even more, he said, "I'm asking you to do this because you are my wife and she is a valuable ally."

"And a great bedmate too, I'm sure," Margherita snarked as she continued forward.

Ezio followed but still shot back, "Oh? Is that what this is about?"

"You like damsels in distress. Caterina made a very good damsel in distress, locked in a tower."

"And you like beefy, scruffy men. That man in the kitchen made a very good beef-head."

"That was the first time we had met – he's the brother of one of the courtesans. He was thanking me for teaching her."

"Don't act like you still didn't appreciate the view."

"I appreciate your view more though."

"Well, I love you. Sometimes I even like you."

Margherita shot him a glare from over her shoulder. Despite the seriousness of the topic, though, she was glad that they could still at least snark with each other. It stunk of normalcy – something she missed greatly.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Once they reached the hideout's entrance, Margherita turned to look up at Ezio. "I'll do it. I'll _try_ to do it. My first priority is my responsibilities at the brothel because what the girls know directly affects how safe you are. After that, my sanity is my next priority. No, I don't really like Caterina – she has the hots for you and I may or may not have, in the 21st century, stumbled upon a scene of you two together – having sex, which obviously didn't happen here because I'm here but it still in kind of stuck in my head and just the idea that it could happen is a little unnerving. Also, I feel like she looks down on me. If I, for any reason, have the sudden desire to throw something at her, I will. And you will not fault me for doing it because I'm your wife and you love me and you probably should have known better. But once again, I will try. I will try very, very hard."

He smiled and her whole world lit up. It was funny how he could do that to her. "That's all I'm asking for," he said and opened the door for her.

Like the damsel in distress she was at this moment, Caterina Sforza, countess of Forli, reclined against the plush sofa in the office portion of the hideout. When she caught sight of her guests she greeted them with her aristocratic nod. She was still clad in a white (well, it had been white – now it was covered in grime and God only knew what else) shift and seemed to be favoring her left leg.

"Margherita offered to take care of you until you can get back on your feet," Ezio explained. His wife shot him a look that promised pain later.

"Oh, did you?" Caterina asked.

"Yes, yes I did," Margherita smiled gracefully. "Well," she looked over her patient with a clinical eye. "I suppose you're dying for a bath."

"You read my mind," she replied.

"I thought so too," Ezio chimed in. "But I figured you would be more comfortable with a female."

"Not necessarily," Caterina said. Margherita turned her head so that only Ezio could see her expression and gave him a look that translated to "See what I mean?" Caterina seemed to realize that she had been slightly brazen because she clarified, "Sometimes the desire for a bath trumps the desire to be comfortable." Ezio shot Margherita a glance of "See, she's not so bad?"

Margherita shrugged and left to draw the countess a bath. One more thing to add to her plate, apparently.

* * *

><p>Reclining on her marital bed, Margherita thanked her lucky stars that that wretched woman was able to finally get on her feet again. And my God, it only took a week. Really, Margherita shouldn't call her "wretched", she had honestly been quite pleasant – probably because she knew that if she was nasty some of the blonde's spit might end up in her food. Margherita simply didn't appreciate having even more to do than normal. As it was, Caterina would still remain at Tiber Island – as would Margherita… She had no desire to return to the brothel. Sure, she and Ezio still had some tension between them, but they had been getting along. Also, Margherita didn't want to leave him alone with Caterina, now that the countess was mobile.<p>

Who knew if the redhead would sneak into her husband's bed one night?

Margherita didn't want to find out.

Speaking of the white devil himself, Ezio came into the room and quickly made work of his outer armor. Margherita watched him.

"You missed dinner," she said, not unkindly.

"I know. Is there any left?" Ezio removed his outer robe.

Smiling, Margherita stood and walked to the door, "I saved you a plate because I'm the best wife in the world."

"That's debatable!" came Ezio's reply as she slipped into the kitchen and grabbed his cold dinner.

Presenting the plate, she smirked, "I think it's a solid fact, actually."

As Ezio took his plate, his eyes found her wrist. Frowning, he held the plate in one hand and took her wrist in his other, bringing it closer to his face so that he could inspect it further. "What happened?" he inquired.

A purplish bruise stained the delicate pale skin of her inner wrist.

Ah, yes. That had occurred just the other day when Machiavelli had thought it was a good idea to teach her how to recover from being flipped over someone's body. After about the third flip her wrist had begun to hurt from all the man-handling and after the tenth flip she had begun to get nauseous, deciding that if she threw up just being on a rocking boat, she could only imagine how far she could spew if being flung in a circle continued. It wasn't until she had threatened to throw up on him that Machiavelli had reluctantly admitted that she had the skill basically mastered. She actually probably didn't, but if some idiot decided to flip her over their back, they might be distracted by the vomit that would undoubtedly end up on their backs… so, it was moot point.

She hadn't realized however, that the exercise had been enough to bruise.

And really, that bruise was not one that had particularly worried her. In fact, most of her body was in some way marked by bruises that were all at varying degrees of healing. Having trained as an assassin, Ezio would recognize the marks of combat and undoubtedly put an end to her work with Machiavelli and maybe even the courtesans. So far, Margherita had been smart – only having sex with Ezio in the dark. The hideout made things easier because there were no windows and when they retired for the evening she would simply blow out the candles and have her way with her husband.

Apparently she needed to be more careful.

Coping Ezio's frown, Margherita stared at her wrist in false perplexity before announcing, "I have no idea. I might have slammed it into something."

Ezio gave her a long, hard look. But, when all she did was stare back at him with her blue eyes wide like a doe's, he finally released her and climbed onto their bed to eat his dinner. Absently, Margherita rubbed her wrist and sat next to him.

"Guess who I ran into today?" the assassin asked, still chewing.

Margherita wrinkled her nose at his manners but inquired anyways, "I don't know – who?"

"Leonardo!"

"Our Leonardo?" Margherita asked, nearly jumping off the bed in her excitement.

"Do we know another Leonardo?"

She thought for a moment, "No. Stupid question – don't make fun of me. Anyways! He's in Roma?"

"Yes, he's been making weapons for the Borgia." The assassin winced at his own words.

"What?" Why would their dearest friend help their most bitter enemy?

"He doesn't have much of a choice, apparently."

"Oh…" Yes, that made sense. And even if these were weapons of destruction, Margherita knew that her friend and mentor had always been happier with a schematic in front of him, rather than a canvas. Painting paid the bills. He had often tinkered with little things, but without painting, he would have been totally broke. It wasn't that he disliked his art – quite the opposite really, but he had always been jealous that Margherita could devote so much time to her hot air balloon. Finally, after a particularly expensive painting had been commissioned and finished was Leonardo able to take a break – the result was his flying machine.

"Yeah," Ezio swallowed the last bite of food.

"Where is he staying?" she asked.

The assassin shot her a warning look and leaned over to place his empty plate of the bed between them. Margherita picked it up on instinct, knowing she would have to go clean it to moment this conversation ended – assuming it didn't end with one of them storming out to go live somewhere else again.

"He is working for the Borgia," Ezio said slowly, as though she hadn't heard him correctly the first time. "I have no doubt of his loyalties and I know he will not hurt you, but should the Borgia be watching him and see you – the wife of the assassin that is trying to hunt and kill them, surely you will be in danger."

Snorting, Margherita shifted a bit. "Our marriage isn't exactly public knowledge, Ezio. Even some of the courtesans think I'm a spinster. I doubt the Borgia even know you're married."

"I still don't want to risk it."

The blonde sighed, and picked at the edge of the plate. "What if I go in disguise? I could borrow some clothes from one of the girls, and even take a few of them with me. It would just be two or three courtesans, visiting a lonely bachelor."

She looked up at him hopefully. The assassin seemed to be on the verge of giving in. Finally, his lips thinned. "Can I think about it?" he asked.

Nodding gratefully, Margherita was just glad she was getting even that little bit. For such a laid-back guy, Ezio was pretty uptight about his womenfolk. "Can you have an answer by tomorrow morning?" she shot back.

Ezio gave a quick nod and obediently, Margherita gave him a quick peck on the lips before leaving to clean up. Maybe she could do this whole "good wife" thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: Oops. College. RSOs. My life. Boys. Stupid boys. Not a thing. Whatever.**

**New chapter. New game. Notice a trend? I do. I do. I do.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

* * *

><p>Or, maybe she couldn't do this whole "good wife" thing.<p>

Pulling her veil closer around her, Margherita glanced at the crowd mulling around her. God, she felt like a villain, a scoundrel, a wanted woman (and not in a good way). But mostly, she felt like a very, very, bad wife.

Don't go visit Leonardo, Ezio had said. It's too dangerous Margherita, Ezio had said.

Sure, he had promised to think about it, and he had. He had even gone to scope out whether the Borgia were anywhere close by. And then he had returned with disappointing news on his lips.

"I'm sorry Margherita, but right across the street there's a Borgia tower," he had explained. "Cesare is smart enough to know Leonardo doesn't appreciate women like that and a group of courtesans showing up would cause too much suspicion. I'm sorry," he had repeated.

And just as she had become accustomed to doing, she nodded her head obediently and feigned mild disappointment before making him a hardy dinner. All the while, thoughts of how to get around that minor inconvenience were circling her head. It might be a reckless decision on her part, but if the calluses on her hands and the ache in her bones had anything to say about it – she could probably survive anything mildly dangerous. She was on her way to being strong.

She sent a messenger to Leonardo's new workshop pretending to be the wife of a noble who often visited the Rosa in Fiore. In the message she informed Leonardo that she wanted to contract his work on a painting for her front room. His response had been in the negative. So, she sent him another message, this time writing on the bottom in invisible ink the words, "I need an excuse to see you". Then she ripped the corner of the letter so that he would know to look for some kind of secret message. This time the response was in the affirmative and she had begun the plans to visit him. It would be good to see her old friend.

So, with only mild regret in her heart, she continued on. Reaching the corner, she glanced around before crossing the street and knocking on his workshop door.

Within seconds the wooden door was yanked back and her dearest friend in the whole world stood in front of her – arms out poised for a hug, his face stretched recklessly with a smile.

"My dear!" he exclaimed.

And suddenly, all regret left her heart and she threw herself into his arms. She had never felt more at home.

Gingerly, she pulled back and allowed Leonardo to close the door and then guide her deeper in the workshop. Glancing around, she pulled her veil down.

"What do you think of the place?" he asked, gesturing about.

As per usual, the place was an utter mess. Apparently the inventor still hadn't learned how to pick up after himself. Sighing, Margherita reached down and plucked a piece of parchment off the floor, replacing it on the table.

"Still a pig," she commented.

The genius just laughed a hardy laugh and stroked his beard, which glinted in the firelight. Margherita squinted and took a step closer. In response, Leonardo stepped back, confused at her actions.

"You're grey!" she exclaimed, stepping marginally closer. "You've gone grey! Your beard has grey in it!"

Leonardo blinked for a moment before smiling and shaking his head. "Surely Ezio also has some grey hairs, Margherita. We are all growing old, it happens."

Silence descended for a moment as both contemplated those words. Finally Leonardo sighed and gestured for her to follow him. Turning around, the inventor led her into the kitchen and handed her a goblet. Putting her satchel on the floor beside her, she took the seat opposite him and allowed him to fill up her cup. Spiced wine always put her in a good mood. Together they sat and drank in silence for a moment.

It seemed that his comment has affected him more than he had thought it would. It was true, she realized. He had gotten old. Back in the 21st century she had seen his own renditions of himself as an old man – long beard, balded head, wise eyes. Now, however, he just looked tired. Weary. And that was saddening to Margherita. Where was her rambunctious mentor? Where had her spirited friend gone to and would she ever get him back?

Part of her ached for the older days – where things were so much simpler… or, maybe more complicated, but at least enjoyable. Back when Ezio would flirt with her but never try to dominate her – back when she could fiddle with inventions and then go bother Leonardo who would entertain her with vivid descriptions of his latest invention – or something he hadn't even begun to create yet. She missed Rosa. She missed knowing what would happen next. She missed everything she used to have. Not that she was ungrateful of her husband, or her new family, or her new hobbies. But she still longed for ignorance and simplicity.

Margherita was the first to break the silence.

"I'm married."

"I heard."

"I'm working at the Rosa in Fiore."

"Ah, as a…?"

"Instructor. Not a whore. Don't worry."

"Ah."

"I'm learning how to fight."

This seemed to get the inventor's intention. Choking a bit on his drink, he placed the cup back on the table with an unintentional _tink_ and leaned closer to his friend. Without making a sound, his raised eyebrows caused her to explain, "I started by just organizing the courtesans and then one of them mentioned that it would be beneficial to have some knowledge of weapons and so I've been learning some moves and passing them along to my girls."

The inventor gave a private laugh into his cup and then took another sip. "Of all the activities I could picture you doing," he said. "Roughing it out in a fighting ring never really occurred to me. What if you ruin your pretty face?"

"You're working under the assumption that anyone can land a hit on my face!" she snarked, raising her glass in jest.

"Ah ha! You used to complain for hours if you so much as stubbed your toe! I can't imagine you throwing a punch – much less taking a punch without wounding your opponent with that sharp tongue of yours."

"Leonardo, Leonardo – you know I can give as well as I can take." Taking her last gulp, Margherita held her glass out for some more.

"I'll believe you for now." Leonardo refilled her drink. Replacing the bottle back on the table, a thought occurred to her. "Do you at least enjoy it?"

"Well, I hate it as much as I enjoy it," she shrugged. "It's challenging – as you might imagine. I feel like it would be a lot worse if I had a different teacher, though."

"Well, I suppose Ezio likes any excuse to throw you to the ground," he joked. When all Margherita did was stare down at her drink, Leonardo cocked his head. Slowly he asked, "So, if Ezio isn't the one teaching you, then who is your miracle instructor?"

"Machiavelli. Ezio doesn't even know I'm learning."

The look Leonardo gave her was bittersweet. It was the kind of look that he had always given her years ago when she would sneak around with guys in Firenze, obviously still recovering from her rape. It was the kind of look that he had given her after he had found out she and Ezio had a thing. It was the kind of look her gave her whenever she was misbehaving. Normally it made her feel like a small child caught stealing cookies but now it reminded her of home and of simpler times. She certainly didn't appreciate the sentiment, but its familiarity was enough to make her smile inwardly.

Shrugging deeply, Margherita took yet another drag from her cup just because it was something to do. "If he knew, he would tell me to stop."

"Probably with good reason," he threw in.

"I'm the wife of an assassin, Leonardo. Even Claudia knows how to take care of herself. I'm not hurting anyone."

"And you don't think Ezio will be hurt when he finds out?"

"If."

"When."

"Well, you aren't going to tell him – are you?"

The inventor frowned at her and then got up to clear away their empty cups. "Did you have permission to come here, Margherita?"

Handing over her cup, Margherita watched his hands rather than his face. "I hate that phrase," she muttered. "It makes it seem like I'm his property. I shouldn't need his permission to come visit my oldest and closest friend."

Leonardo continued to frown at her over his shoulder as he left the room, but made no other comment. With him gone for the moment, Margherita furrowed her brows down at her lap – not wanting to think about this any more. She wanted to just have a lovely conversation with an old friend and instead she had brought with her all of her marital problems. Of course. Stereotypical Margherita. Standing to follow him, Margherita grabbed her satchel and that reminded her of the other thing that she had brought with her to the workshop.

"Oh! Leonardo!" she called, as she entered the main workshop area. "Do you still have the schematics for those rocket launchers?"

Bouncing down the stairs, the inventor scrunched up his face in thought. "Maybe," he said. "Why?"

"I was changing some linen a few months ago and I remembered the equation we were trying to use and then something occurred to me. Remember how we couldn't figure out the last part, because it kept bouncing back? Well," she reached into her satchel and shuffled around to a few moments. "I came up with this." Yanking a bunch of papers from her satchel she flung them onto the table. Most of them were folded up because Margherita usually had very stupid (and occasionally brilliant) ideas and she would write them down and then shove them into her bag.

Leonardo, knowing her inability to keep anything organized and her usual method of organization, didn't even sigh as he got to work unfolding the papers to find their hidden messages.

Unable to keep still, Margherita let Leonardo do all the searching and instead just paced. He would find it eventually. She was just so excited to finally be talking about something non-courtesan-y. It wasn't that she didn't like her work with them, but there was something about being in a workshop with her oldest friend and working on a new invention that got her blood pumping and her heart soaring.

"It probably won't work – or at least, it will take some new tweaking, but it was just a thought and I wanted your opinion. I know you're probably super busy with new things for the Borgia and really if I'm going to help you with anything, it probably shouldn't be another weapon, especially not one that can be used against the assassins eventually. But, it was just a random thought and… and you aren't speaking." She stopped rambling and twisted to look at the inventor. Yes, he was holding a sheet of paper but when she clumsily rounded the corner she realized he wasn't grasping the correct schematics.

"What… is this?" Leonardo asked, pulling the paper closer to his face and squinting. Apparently the genius was also becoming farsighted with older age. One more reason for Margherita to be convinced he was getting old.

"Oh, that was just something I was bouncing around a while ago."

He was holding the sketches Margherita had quickly penned ages ago when she had first been approached with the request to arm the courtesans from Masina.

"Hm," she made a noise in the back of her throat as she took the paper from Leonardo's hands gingerly. "It was just something I was bouncing around a while ago," she repeated in a murmured voice.

"The hairpin daggers would be the easiest to make," Leonardo mused, stroking his beard. "But the shape might give away their deadliness. I really like those fans."

Rubbing her chin, absently mimicking her mentor, Margherita spoke up. "The fans would involve some pretty complex spring technology."

"Like the assassin's hidden blade."

"And it would need to be just as deadly – it would involve more blades too, assuming they would spring from each line of ribbing."

Without much thought involved, Margherita stalked over to the cluttered tabletop and grabbed a quill. Suddenly every little thing that had ever been wrong in the world slowly slid into its proper place as she remained bent over the table spilling new ideas onto the paper. Leonardo came to stand over her shoulder and muttered small suggestions to make the device workable.

"Do you think I would have to totally rework a premade fan or would I have to do this from scratch?" she asked absently, mentally trying to decide if the springs should be automatic or manual.

"I would need to see what kinds of fans you're working with," he said.

With a final stroke, Margherita held her schematic up and admired it for a moment. It was perfect. She would need to work out the calculations later but for now it was certainly a starting point.

"I'll bring one with me next time and we can see how it works. In the meantime I'll start on the hairpin idea."

Stuffing the schematics in her purse with the same care she probably would have given a spare piece of paper, she bounced to the door. Surely it was time to get back home before she was missed and Ezio got suspicious and also, she was anxious to get home and start plans. It was one more thing to add to her list of responsibilities but at least it was something she enjoyed – no, not enjoyed – this was something she loved.

"Margherita," Leonardo started.

The blonde was at the door already, hand on knob, about to open it and show herself out. She turned back to the inventor with a smile.

"Margherita," he repeated. "There won't be a next time."

"Hm?" she made a subtle noise in the back of her throat, a smile still on her face. Obviously it hadn't sunk in yet.

"There won't be a next time. You can't come back here, Margherita."

Slowly what he was saying washed over her. It didn't matter that she hadn't even asked for his logic, it didn't matter that at some level she knew why she couldn't come back – all that mattered was that her best, eldest and dearest friend was telling her that she couldn't come back to a place that had instantly made her feel like she was back at home. The tears welled up in her eyes as she took her hand off the doorknob.

Leonardo immediately realized that what he had said upset her and he crossed the room to hug her.

"Margherita, it's not that I don't want you here," he explained. "It's not that I don't miss you every second of every day – but I work for the Borgia now. You're the wife of the most wanted man in Roma. It's not safe here. I let it happen this one time because I missed you so much and thought that if you wanted to see me that desperately you must need something very badly."

"I did need something very badly," she murmured into his chest and raggedy beard. "I needed to see you. And talk to you. I needed to be reminded of a time before this." She sniffled loudly and pulled away to wipe her nose. God, she was twenty-nine, she shouldn't be this emotional. If she hadn't been totally upset she might have been worried that she was pregnant or something. "I thought being married would just be a continuation of all the happiness we had been experiencing prior. You remember how happy we were, don't you? I didn't just make that up?" At his nod, she sighed. "I just thought it would be different."

"Marriage is difficult, Margherita," he smiled sagely.

"Our marriage wasn't difficult," she shot back, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Our marriage was fake."

"I miss our fake marriage."

"I know."

With a deep sigh, she wiped the tears from her face and squared her shoulders. "This isn't goodbye," she stated.

"No. Never goodbye."

Leonardo took her in his arms one last time and stroked her hair. Margherita didn't even have the energy to tell him not to mess up her hairstyle – it had taken her a half an hour that morning. Instead, she just melted into him and let go of all the troubles in her heart.

"If you ever need me, just tell one of the courtesans."

"I will."

Then he released her and without looking back she pulled her veil up securely around her head and walked right out the door.

* * *

><p>"Crouch."<p>

"I hate you."

"You aren't crouching."

"I am crouched."

"Not enough."

"This is as far as my body goes."

"If you don't crouch more you won't get the push off you need to get across to the other roof."

"I'm not jumping to the other roof."

"You _won't_ get to the other roof if you don't crouch more."

"This is so stupid. I didn't ask for this."

"You say that every time I make you do something you don't want to do. Just admit you're enjoying yourself."

"I'm not enjoying myself. I'm up on a ledge and you're telling me to get to the other side without dying."

"Could be worse – I could be asking you to do a Leap of Faith."

"Now you're gonna tell me that that's next week's lesson."

"No. That's only for full-fledged assassins."

"Good, I have no intention of being a full-fledged assassin."

"Right – because that would involve telling Ezio about your little escapades."

"Shut up."

"Crouch."

"Hate. You."

* * *

><p>The next month found Margherita situated in her room at the brothel. Even though she was living at the Tiber Island hideout, she still kept some things in her spare room. There was a rare day where nothing else required her attention and she decided to get a start on possible weapons. After some discussion with the girls, Margherita decided to keep it simple first. Each girl would be outfitted with necklaces that held poison and a hidden dagger in the boning of the corset. Later if finances were available it would be possible to make the hairpin daggers and the fans.<p>

A tumble of dark brown hair peeked into the room. "You wanted to see me, Margherita?"

"Masina!" She rose to greet the girl with a hug, then pulled her into the room. "Yes, yes, yes! I cleared your schedule for today because I need your help." After dragging the olive skinned girl to her bed, Margherita sat her down and shoved a needle and some thread at her. "Your mother was a seamstress."

"Yes… how did you know that?"

"Dom might have mentioned it a while ago," Margherita spoke while rummaging through a pile of corsets.

Earlier that day she had pestered a few of the girls into giving her their corsets to borrow and alter to accommodate the new dagger sheath. The idea was to make the sheath removable. So – Margherita was going to sew two ribbons on the inside of the corset and then attach ribbons to the sheath. That way before putting the corset on, the girls could tie the ribbons together. And the sheath would be situated high enough in the dress so that it would be in the cleavage and could be easily removed without nicking any skin.

Masina fiddled with the needle a bit. "Hm. It seems like you've been talking quite a bit."

"He's always here, checking up on you."

"And flirting with you."

Margherita picked up the first corset – it was old enough that if she managed to ruin it, she wouldn't feel bad about replacing it. "I'm happily married."

"You're married, at least."

For a moment, Margherita was floored. She stood with her mouth gaping and her pride flaring. It only took a second for the younger girl to realize what she had just said. Her hazel eyes grew double the size and her mouth opened to apologize. Then Margherita started laughing. It was probably the shear look of panic on the girl's face. Throwing the corset at the girl, Margherita giggled and said, "Close your mouth, girl. I love seeing this side of you."

"I'm sorry," she stared down at the corset, smoothing it down.

Margherita came to sit next to her. "Don't be," she sighed. "I like honesty." Reaching under the bed, the blonde popped back up with a box of the daggers she had picked out especially at the blacksmith the day before. They were too thin to block any heavy weaponry, but they could cut flesh in a bind.

"Are those daggers?" Masina asked, leaning over to get a better look.

"Yes, we'll be sewing these ribbons into the corsets so that the sheaths can be moved from one outfit to another. And when the corset comes off… as it typically does, it won't be noticed."

"When do you think the lessons will move on past getting out of holds?"

The blonde blinked at the brunette for a moment. The girl was rather petite – granted, she had all the assets needed for this kind of work, but she was still pretty small and the bloodlust she had just expressed was rather uncommon. Margherita had begun taking the girls' lessons from outside with distraction techniques to inside with tricks during close combat.

"Probably next week. I still have a few more rotations to get through."

Masina nodded and began to thread her needle. Margherita watched her for a solid minute before threading her own. If the girl had a problem, she would come to her when the time was right. This wasn't it.

They worked for a solid two hours and got through the first batch of corsets. Masina was just returning with the second batch when a knock on the door startled them both. For a moment Margherita worried it was her husband and began to try to block the intruder's view of the weapons, but when she looked up she realized it was only Machiavelli. God, just seeing his face made all her muscles sore in remembrance of all his abuses in the fighting ring.

"Margherita," he nodded his greeting. Asshole, though he was – he still had manners.

"Masina," Margherita pointed with her needle at the girl as a way of introducing her. "That's Machiavelli. He's the one that's been teaching me all the things I teach you."

Nodding to the girl, but otherwise giving her no other attention, the asshole sauntered into the room and picked up one of the daggers Margherita had been trying to hide behind her skirt. Spinning it around in his fingers, he commented, "Not bad quality."

"Glad you approve," Margherita snarked and snatched the weapon from his hands. He let it be removed from his grasp. Then, she began to stitch the ribbon around the sheath with small but reinforced stitches.

"So, when I'm not pounding your face into the ground, this is what you do to occupy your time…"

She scrunched her nose. No, he had never actually pounded her face into the ground, but recently he'd been getting rougher. Not enough to leave her crippled – but just the night before Ezio and she had been engaged in their usual nightly activities and he had put too much pressure on her side – right where Machiavelli had thought it might be a good idea to punch her the day before. Ezio had in fact noted her squeal of pain and had commented on it. Quick thinking had saved the day, but really it was starting to get out of hand.

Scoffing, she shot back, "Actually, this is rather recent."

"I suppose I'll have to teach you how to use these then, next time?" He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

"Which is… tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Alrighty." When the asshole/assassin/writer did nothing but continue to stand there obnoxiously, Margherita prompted, "Is there something else you needed?"

"Ezio has taken on apprentices."

Margherita nodded, her husband had informed her of this news about a month ago after recruiting two citizens who seemed eager to have the Borgia removed from Roma. Both of them had begun spending more and more time in the hideout. They weren't exactly living there yet (which Margherita was super grateful for because that would put a terrible dent in her sex life) but more often than not, they would all have dinner together.

She raised her eyebrows, trying to mentally tell him that that sentence didn't at all explain why he was here, in her room. "And… you're upset?" she questioned.

"No. Quite the opposite – we need new recruits. However, it's been a month and he's already managed to get the paperwork so disorganized that even I can't decipher it." If Margherita didn't know the philosopher better, she would think he was… pouting.

Giving a personal giggle to her sewing, she nodded, "Yes – I do believe Ezio hates paperwork even more than he hates the Borgia. Never has any patience for it."

"Right. So. I was thinking you could do it."

The needle paused. "What?"

"I was thinking you could do it."

"Oh." The needle started again.

"So?"

"No."

"You owe me."

"You're doing me a favor, I don't owe you anything."

"You owe your husband something – we need all the help we can get, Margherita. And if that help is lacking because your husband can't keep track of the different missions he's assigning his recruits, that's a problem. A problem you can fix."

The blonde glared up at the assassin, her needle still working. "Do you have any idea how overworked I am? I have to teach the new girls how to distract, I teach all the other girls how to fight – Claudia will still use me as a maid, I've been designing these things," she held up her sewing, "and now I'm actually making them and then I have all my wifely duties and – shit!" The needle had slipped into her finger, drawing blood. She quickly popped it into her mouth and sucked lightly. "Fuck…" she whined around her sore finger.

"It wouldn't be difficult – just keep track of the skills all the assassins are learning, send them on missions that would be suitable for their skill level, that sort of thing." Machiavelli uncrossed his arms in a show of pleading. "Margherita, you are the wife of an assassin."

"So I've heard."

"Please."

Margherita glanced up at the asshole. That was the first time he had ever used anything close to pleading with her. Fuck. She was going to be stuck doing this, wasn't she?

"Talk to Ezio. He probably won't think I'm qualified."

Machiavelli grinned a small, but cocky grin. "I already did," he gloated. "So long as he double checks important things, he's agreed to let you handle it."

Giving a small sigh, Margherita glanced down at her injured finger. A drop of blood has already pushed its way out in the absence of her mouth. So, she stuck it back in and muttered around it, "Glad that's settled – now, can you scram? I've got tons of work to do."

For once the man left without comment and Margherita was alone with Masina. The girl had a small smile on her face, though her focus remained on her work.

"You have something to say – say it," Margherita nearly snapped.

"You act like you're so overworked – and perhaps you are, but I think you enjoy it."

And even though Margherita wanted to argue and argue and argue, she saw the truth of that statement reflected in those wide, hazel eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it…? Oops!**

* * *

><p>When in Rome<p>

By: Ginny

* * *

><p>"You have bags under your eyes," Ezio commented, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face.<p>

It was a rare moment for the couple – alone in the hideout, neither had anything to do prior to bed and instead of having wild, passionate sex, they were engaging in pillow talk. Standard marriage behavior, Margherita supposed. She was curled up on her side, facing Ezio and he was mirroring her position. He still didn't know she had visited Leonardo and she fully intended to keep it that way.

"It's because I've been super busy," Margherita murmured, catching his hand and lacing his fingers with hers in between them.

"I didn't think you'd agree to organize the assassins," he commented. His thumb began stroking her fingers gingerly. "Machiavelli was under the impression that he could convince you pretty easily though."

"I almost didn't," she responded. Then a thought occurred to her and she laughed aloud – "He hit me right where he knew I couldn't say no."

"And where was that?" Ezio nuzzled his nose against hers.

"With you." Margherita laughed again and rolled onto her back. "He told me you needed all the help you could get and quite honestly, once I sat down at that desk and took a look over your stuff – I knew right then and there just how much help you truly required."

Sitting up slightly, Ezio loomed over his wife ominously. "It wasn't _that _bad," he contested.

"No darling," she reached up to stroke his beard. "It was worse."

Giving the kind of chuckle that only the assassin could give, he leaned down to kiss her. God, when things were good, they were _good._

* * *

><p>"Oh, if you have any opened wounds, let me know," Margherita said, passing Masina the bottle of poison and a mask.<p>

"Is this safe for us to work with?"

"Maybe."

At Masina's look of horror, Margherita shot the girl a disarming smile. The poison was only dangerous if it was breathed in or ingested. Hence the masks. The day before Margherita had purchased little locket charms especially made by the local craftsmith. Then, she created her own brand of poison (with some advice from the apothecary) to put into the lockets. With a flick of their fingers, the girls could drug their victim and either make a quick escape or hit a target.

"It's only harmful if you breathe it in," she explained, coming to sit next to the girl. "Which is why we're on the balcony and have these sexy little masks."

"Got it," Masina picked up her mask and slid it on her face, then picked up the first locket. "How much in each?"

"Just fill it full," Margherita explained.

She put on her own mask and was just about to pick up the bottle when Masina's voice spoke up, "Margherita – you have an open wound."

"Hm?" she glanced down. Oh yes, her knuckles had taken a bit of a bruising the day before and she had forgotten that her skin had actually broken. "Right, I forgot about that," she muttered as she removed her mask. "I'll be right back," she said and disappeared into the brothel. When she returned, her hands were bandaged up to prevent any poison from getting into her bloodstream.

Then she slid into the seat and began her work. Considering that the previous project had required quite a few time consuming steps, it surprised both girls how quickly they were able to create the poisoned lockets.

"In the future, the girls should be able to refill them themselves," Margherita explained. They collected the lockets together in a basket and the blonde began to unravel the bandages around her hands.

"What's that?" Masina asked, leaning forward.

"Hm?" Margherita stuffed the bandages on top of the lockets in the basket, intending to just carry it all in together.

"Your hand – this," the younger girl flipped the elder's hand over and cradled it in her own.

And there, staring up at both girls was a subtle pink burn.

Margherita hadn't thought about it in ages.

"Oh, well," she struggled to explain. "Hm. You know I've known Ezio for a long time – right? We met…. Quite some time ago." She almost said the exact number of years until she remembered that she had made the same mistake with Caterina and then the poor countess had been so confused. "A few months after we had met, I got swept up – pretty unintentionally – in some pretty shitty stuff." Margherita clenched her fist. "I used to think of this mark as a symbol of my shame because of what happened. It took me a long time and a lot of healing, but now I know the truth. Scars remind us where we were and how far we've come," Margherita finished. She glanced up to find Masina smiling sadly at her.

Margherita busied herself with lifting the basket and heading into the brothel.

"Thank you," Masina spoke up as she followed the older woman.

"For what?" the blonde glanced back, placing the basket on the front counter. She was mentally cataloguing everything she had to do today.

"For everything," she simply said and then disappeared to her afternoon client.

* * *

><p>Months later, Margherita was overworked. She had dispersed all of the poison between the courtesans, had moved on to weapons training with her teacher, and had completely organized the paperwork for the assassin trainees. But that was slowly weighing on her, as each mission proposal appeared on her desk and each mission completion had to be done. It was too much for one lady and Ezio was not helping.<p>

"Ezio!" Margherita snapped. Her voice echoed out and about within the stony halls of Tiber Island.

"Yes, lovely wife of mine?" came the reply. But Margherita waited until he peeked his head around the wall, smart enough not to approach her head-on.

"Did you send Luigi to Athens?" she asked, shuffling some papers.

"I… believe so…"

"And you didn't bother to tell me, because…?"

Ezio at least at the presence of thought to appear sheepish. But he gave no excuse.

"Oh, Ezio!" she groaned. "I'm trying to help you! We have a system here – a good system and you just tromp around doing whatever you want! That can't happen anymore, okay?"

"Fine, fine, fine," he muttered, finally completely entering the room. He glided across the rough stone floor and slipped behind his wife. Tough hands coiled around her shoulders as he massaged the tension from her body. His lips dipped down and pressed into her hair, sniffing gently at the perfume she used near her pulse point. "You haven't had your Lace today," he noted. "Want me to grab you some seeds and maybe some tea?"

Birth control left a lot to be desired in the Renaissance, but since being in that time period, Margherita had had to make due. There was an herb that the courtesans used, Queen Anne's Lace, which prevented pregnancy. She had been using it for years now and had never feared that she was with child.

Margherita turned to glance out of the corner of her eye. "I've been thinking," she began. Instantly, Ezio's face fell. When his wife was thinking, a fight was brewing. But his hands stayed on her shoulders. "I've been thinking that maybe it's time I stop taking the Lace," she finally admitted.

"You want children?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Well – we know it's going to happen eventually…."

"Yes, when the Borgia are completely gone," Ezio argued. "When we are all safe."

"Ezio, my clock is ticking."

"Your… clock?"

"Yes, my biological clock. Women can't have children after a certain age."

Ezio paused for a moment. "Does this have something to do with… the game? You said that the children I have carry messages to my descendants, but only after all the memories have been made. Do you know something I don't? Am I supposed to sire a child now?"

"No," she sighed. "I know nothing at this point, you know that. We're in this together now. I just… I don't want to miss my chance to have a child with you."

"But, now?" Ezio groaned and pulled away. "Margherita, things had just started going right! We were getting along, we were happy. Can't we just enjoy this while it lasts?"

"Why not now, while everything is great?" she shot back.

"Oh, I don't know," he snapped. "Because you have been working overtime recently. You're stressed enough! Claudia and I rely on you and right now we need you and you can't do your jobs if you're nursing a babe."

Margherita didn't even realize she had been clutching Paolo's mission statement in her hands so tightly that it was crumpling. "Is that all I'm good for?" she asked with dangerous hushness.

"You know –"

"No, Ezio!" she shouted, pushing out of her chair. "I don't know. Because you literally never tell me anything! You didn't want me involved in this life – but here I am! And you rely on me, but you never, ever thank me. You know who thank me? The whores in the brothel. They adore the help I give them because they see nothing wrong with me being there. You want me in your life, but not really in your life. I'm overworked, yes, but I want a child."

"Where… is this coming from?" Ezio finally asked.

Margherita plopped down on her chair. "I… We don't have the Apple," she reminded him. "The people who kidnapped your descendent seem to think that he knows where the Apple is – meaning, one of his ancestors got their hands on the Apple and hid it somewhere. If that ancestor is you, then the Apple will need to be recovered before the child you sire can be of any use to Desmond. That child would need to be conceived after we have the Apple. I'm out of my best childbearing years, Ezio. I'm less fertile and less likely to carry the baby to term. And I… I had a dream last night that we couldn't have children but we – you- needed a child if Desmond had any chance of saving the Apple during his time. So, you picked one of the courtesans in the brothel and she gave you the son that I couldn't."

She didn't even realize that she was crying until Ezio brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"I'll make you a deal," he told her. "If we don't have the Apple within this next year, I will give you a horde of little Auditores."

"Deal," she giggled a little bit and swiped at her eyes one last time. "I love you, Ezio," she said, grasping his neck and pulling him down to her lips.

"Love you, too," he muttered against her mouth.

* * *

><p>Two days later, things went to shit.<p>

Margherita returned from training with Machiavelli to find Ezio leaning on the counter of the brothel. She smiled and greeted him with a kiss. His entire stance was relaxed and content. It was like everything was falling into place so perfectly and everything hesitation she had had earlier in their marriage was gone. He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her close.

"I have a surprise," he muttered into her ear. "You're going to be very, very happy."

She followed him out into the courtyard, into the main city, down a few passages and then around a corner. A cloaked man was sitting on a bench, watching the water silently. She watched as Ezio approached the man from behind and sat upon the bench next to the man. They embraced and then Ezio turned to Margherita, "Come here!"

The cloaked man turned to glance at her and she saw his face clearly: Leonardo!

Instantly, she was at his side, hugging him and kissing him on the cheek. She remembered with crushing clarity when she had left his house, remembered him telling her she could not come back. And yet – here he was!

"Margherita," he greeted, pulling away and grasping her hands. But his grip was too tight and she let out a yelp. Instantly, he let her go and upturned her hands. "Margherita! What happened?"

She had advanced up to weapons a while ago and the sword Machiavelli let her use was resulting in blisters. He had told her it was perfectly normal to have calluses and blisters and should they pop open and bleed, she should simply bandage them up and keep going. A few had popped that day and she had had every intention of bandaging them up when she got home from training, but she had gotten intercepted by Ezio. She hadn't thought of that until now.

Ezio came to stand next to them, worrying over her hand. "Margherita, what happened?" he echoed his friend's words.

There wasn't much she could say, so she said nothing. Leonardo frowned at her, as he realized a few things: these were sword blisters, Ezio didn't know what they were, so she hadn't told her husband what she was up to.

But slowly, Ezio's brain clicked into place. He reached out and upturned his own hand right next to hers, still clutched in Leonardo's grasp. She watched as he compared the patterns on their hands and how they matched up near perfectly now.

"The bruises, the fatigue, and now this…" he muttered. "I… I had thought that Claudia and I were overworking you and that perhaps you were sick…" His voice was soft, like a child's. Suddenly, without any kind of warning, his hands reached up and roughly cupped her breasts. He squeezed experimentally and without any kind of gentleness. Then, he wheeled her around and wrapped an arm around her stomach, measuring the width.

"What are you doing?" Leonardo asked, abashed.

"Well, I told her that I didn't want her to fight and she went ahead and learned how to fight," he explained. "We recently had a discussion about kids and so I was just making sure she hadn't gone out and disobeyed me again." Then he turned to her. "Who?" he asked. She said nothing, still. "Not one of the trainees," he decided. "So, who?"

"Machiavelli," she finally admitted softly.

Ezio was gone before she could blink. But a flash of white around the corner told her which way he had gone. She took off, following him on legs, now strong. It surprised her a bit that she was better able to keep up than she thought was possible. Her husband ended up at Machiavelli's Villa.

"You ass!" he shouted. Machiavelli poked his head out from one of the upper windows. He glanced at the assassin and then caught sight of Margherita as she came stumbling around the corner. "She is my wife! How dare you go behind my back?!"

The philosopher sighed and disappeared indoors.

"Stop this!" she demanded. Ezio didn't even look at her.

The front door opened and Machiavelli stepped forward with a sword in hand.

"Good!" Ezio snapped. "At least now you're acting like a man! Let's settle this."

"Oh," Machiavelli breathed. "You misunderstand. This sword isn't for me. I have no intention of fighting you, Ezio." And then he tossed the sword in Margherita's direction. She caught it, the weigh shifting her halfway to the right but she steadied herself.

Ezio glanced at her: his wife with a sword in her hand.

"I'm not fighting my wife," he told Machiavelli. "Put that down," he told Margherita.

But she just tightened her grasp on the sword and positioned herself just the way he had taught her.

"You're angry, Ezio," the older man rationalized. "By all means, you have every right to be. But if you want to confront the person whose idea this was, you're looking at her." He gestured to Margherita. "See what she can do."

"I will not!" Ezio raised his voice. "Margherita – put that down now."

Slowly, she let the blade in her hand droop down. It hadn't occurred to her that she wanted to fight him. Not to hurt him, not to injure him but to prove to him that she could do things. He had been the one who claimed she couldn't protect herself and here she was, sword in hand, finally confident with the weapon. She wanted him to be proud.

But… he was treating her like a child.

The blade swung up, purposefully slower than she would have normally swung it and the effect was immediate. Ezio jumped back and the clang of connecting swords rang out in the courtyard of Machiavelli's villa. The metal grit against each other as she jumped back, preparing for another attack. She swung it around coming up this time. Ezio predicted it and jutted the sword downward and away from his body.

"Margherita," he warned with dangerous softness. "Stop."

"Don't treat me like a child," she demanded.

"I will treat you like a child when you act like one," he said. But already Margherita had side-stepped him and was preparing one final swing. This time, with her anger behind it, she was able to force him to step back slightly.

"Enough," Machiavelli called out to them.

It was probably in poor taste that Margherita followed his orders and not her husbands. She turned her back on Ezio and handed the sword back to her teacher.

"Are you satisfied?" Ezio yelled. When she glanced back, she was surprised to find his face beet-red. And his eyes… they were moist. Roughly, he forced his sword into its sheath. "Not only have you ignored my request – a request I thought I had authority to make as you are my wife and I…" He took a shaky breath. "You ignored my request and then continued to hide something from me. Both of you. You, my wife, the woman I loved, lied to me again and again. And for what? So that you can show me some sword tricks? Are you satisfied?"

A single tear managed to break free and for a moment Margherita felt her whole world break apart underneath her. What had she done?

"Ezio," she tried.

"Don't!" he shouted. "And don't come back to Tiber Island. You're not my wife anymore."

And then he stalked away. Margherita let him go.

The stony courtyard ground rose up to meet her as she collapsed to her knees. It had been for him, hadn't it? She had learned how to fight so that he didn't have to worry about her – that had been her excuse, right? That was what she had always told herself. She was doing this for her husband. But here, now, she realized she had done it for herself. To prove to herself that she could and to spite Ezio. And spite him, she had. And now she had lost him.

She barely heard Machiavelli in the background wonder aloud, "Well, the marriage is legal so he can't technically say you aren't his wife anymore."

"Machiavelli," she said softly.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

And then she cried.

* * *

><p>"You're like a ghost," Claudia finally confessed to Margherita. It had been three weeks. She had gone to the brothel and not left it the entire time. Ezio had avoided the brothel like it was hell on Earth. Of course she was like a ghost. The two were rolling bed sheets together.<p>

"Good to know," Margherita muttered.

"I know it's hard," Claudia tried to say.

"But what?" Margherita shot back. "I'm just supposed to get over it? I'm supposed to move on and do what…? Forget him? He's my husband! And I… I did the unthinkable to him."

"So, go apologize," she suggested, not for the first time.

"It's not that simple!" Margherita exclaimed. "He said I wasn't his wife anymore. I can't… I can't face him."

"Well, you can't stay here," a new voice interrupted.

The two girls turned to find Machiavelli leaning against the doorframe. He wagged a finger at Margherita. "You've been skipping training, young lady," he accused.

"I know," she admitted, returning her attention to the bed sheet. "It didn't seem right, after…"

"After Ezio had his hissy fit?" Machiavelli suggested.

"We both know there is more to that," Margherita snapped.

"Fine," Machiavelli shrugged. "True. But I meant what I said – you can't stay here. Look at you," he gestured. "You're wasting away and all that lean muscle I put on you is shrinking away. This isn't the kind of work you want to do," he pointed to the bed sheets. "You're no maid. You're an innovator. You have a creative mind like no one I've ever met, save Leonardo. And beyond that, you have a new skill set and with it, a new job opportunity."

"What do you mean?" She didn't mean to sound nearly that interested but her voice betrayed her and so did her hands as they let go of the bed sheet.

"You're an assassin," he clarified.

"Bullshit," she snarked, returning to her work.

"I gave you the same training I give the trainees," he explained. "According to the skill tests, you would be eligible to go on your first mission. A low-ranking one, of course. But an assassination nonetheless."

Margherita twisted this around in her head.

"Hey," Machiavelli finally got her attention. "Ezio has put me in charge of paper work. I can slip you in there unnoticed, under a new name. It would be a fresh start and break from this place."

But still she hesitated.

"Think about it," he suggested.

* * *

><p>Three months later, Franca Recci pulled her white novice hood up to cover her blonde hair. The Turkish sun was playing gently at her freckled skin. And she clenched her scarred hand tight, preparing herself to face her first assassination.<p> 


End file.
